


I know no I

by Decadent_Hedonism, MostFacinorous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Blood Loss, Cold Weather, Emotional Manipulation, Group Therapy, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Magic, Manipulation, Mouth Sewn Shut, Near Death Experience, Pining, Rehabilitation, Sickfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, loss of magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:13:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 163,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1353688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decadent_Hedonism/pseuds/Decadent_Hedonism, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostFacinorous/pseuds/MostFacinorous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers find Loki on Earth, beaten, bloody, bound, his lips sewn shut and unconscious, but alive. And apparently powerless. They take him in and try to discover what happened, but can he be believed? And when he and Steve grow closer, can he be trusted?</p><p>Intended primarily to be a Steve/Loki story, but I slipped on some plot. Oops?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

It wasn't as though he was innocent in all of this. It wasn't as though the damages done to his body, mind, and powers made him somehow magically absolved of his guilts and wrong doings.

All it did was make at least one of his brother's friends less likely to pulverize him at the first glimpse.

 

When he'd woken in the vibrant light and starch whiteness of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Hospital room, he thought he was in some new level of hell. There were tubes in his arms, wrapped to his fingers, and so much of him was encased in such heavy material that he thought, for a moment, that his captors put too much faith in old wives' tales about the powers of iron to bind magic.

Until he realized that they were cloth, and even being so slight a substance, they were too heavy for him to lift.

Only then did the panic fully settle into his chest, and the monitors at his side began shrieking their shrill mechanical chimes.

He knew where such technology resided, and immediately knew where he was and why he was there.

He was in Midgard. And he was weak and broken, devoid of his immortal strength, and so filled with a distant dull pain and so dull of wit that he knew he must be under some sort of sedation.

He was mortal, and most likely abandoned here by Odin's decree.

After all, mortals do not belong in Asgard. They have people here to tend for their sick, their invalids. Everyone knew Odin’s stance on his son’s intended. He assumed as much was true for his false son, as well.

 

And for the first time in his long life, he had to wonder if he was going to be able to heal at all. He was used to that being a certainty, and not only as an eventuality, but with an immediacy born of his powers-- powers that had clearly been ripped from him, judging by his listlessnes and the sudden gaping void in his veins. He shuddered and tried to see his surroundings better, but the pain was too great, and he collapsed back onto his back, despite there being pain there, too. He wished his arms weren’t so tired and heavy- he wanted to wipe the sweat from his brow, but could not lift his arm, couldn’t reach.

A man came in to adjust the machines he was attached to, and all he could really do was barely open his eyes. It was the monster man, their Doctor Banner, smaller and pinker than last he'd seen him, for which he was instantly grateful.

He parted his lips and tried to give a pithy greeting, but there was a stiffness and then a pull, and he felt the flesh around his mouth being pulled. His words turned instead into a harsh intake of breath that, nonetheless, alerted Banner to his consciousness.

Banner tensed and looked concerned, finished silencing the alarms on the monitors, then twisted something on a plastic bag hanging near Loki's head before hurrying away.

Moments later, his eyes went out of focus and slid closed, and he ceased to be aware of the pain, the aches, the heat, the emptiness and the blood running from around the evenly spaced tears in his lips.

 

The next time he woke, there was a woman beside him, holding his hand in the air, elevating it absently while staring at a screen and recording her findings with her other hand.

“Wh--” he stopped immediately, the pain from moving his lips pulling tears to his eyes. It was enough though; she turned to look and him and dropped his arm in shock. The landing was not gentle, as he arm bounced off of the hard plastic of the bedside, and the contact tugged at the muscles of that shoulder, which in turn sparked a fire all along his back.

Distantly, through the rushing of his own blood in his head, he heard her frantically calling that he was awake.

He took some comfort that even in his current state, he could make a liar of her and cause a little chaos. He slipped back into the dark and the quiet.

He wasn't there long. When he came to, Banner was back, and he held a bottle in one hand and a syringe in the other... obviously prepared to put him under. In a moment of panic coupled with his returned awareness of his hurts and vulnerability, he wondered if this mightn't be a permanent sleep, this time.

But Banner was waiting for orders, it seemed, and he wasn't alone. The Man of Iron was there, replete with his weapons and armor, as were the Hawk, the Captain, and the Spy-- though his erstwhile brother was, thankfully, absent.

 

He shifted his lips a little, remembering now how they came to be stitched shut, and remembering how unlikely they were to be freed. He shook his head as tears sprung to his eyes, angrily trying to banish them back to the depths of his being. Bad enough that his enemies saw him in this weakened state, physically. He needn't give them evidence of his emotional instability as well.

He turned his face away while his throat worked, sticking and swollen under the force of his banked tears.

“What's the game, champ?” Stark's voice was tinny though the systems of his suit, and Loki couldn't answer, though he wanted to. He wanted to shoot off a smart answer, wanted to rise up suddenly so that they would panic, and then wanted to shroud himself in his usual splendor and then storm his way out of this stinking infirmary and back to his rightful place in Asgard. His once rightful place. No longer.

“Tony.” The Captain's admonition interrupted what was sure to have been a torturous spiral of thoughts. He looked up at the soldier who was staring down at him.

“Loki, you have been here for three weeks. Whatever the-- what ever's holding your mouth closed, we haven't been able to find anything to cut through it yet, though Doctor Banner has tried. I know you can't talk and I'm not asking you to, but I do need you to help us understand a few things. So I need you to nod or shake your head for me, alright?”

His voice wasn't soft, wasn't coddling. It was in command, but still polite. An approach that Loki was fully unfamiliar with.

He nodded, once, sharply, willing to listen, if not necessarily to answer. He had no other choice, really.

The Captain cleared his throat and looked around, as though waiting for someone else to pipe up. Loki nearly rolled his eyes. When no one else spoke, their supposed leader took the reins.

“Are you being pursued right now?”

Shrug, head shake, hand tilt.

“So not at the moment?”

Yes.

“Are we in danger from external forces for treating you here?”

Pause. Negative.

“You don't have your powers, do you?”

Shrug. He wasn't going to tell him he was vulnerable.

“Whoever sewed your mouth shut and tortured you, are they going to come looking for you?”

Loki dropped his gaze, fighting back the threatening tears. Though not all of the torture was from Asgard, those who had done the brunt of the damage were destroyed. And Asgard would not come looking for him; they knew where he was, he was sure.

Not looking back up, he shook his head.

“One more question.” Rogers demanded, and Loki nodded.

“Whoever took your powers-- will they use them against us?”

He shook his head no, and winced when everyone in the room relaxed.

“Good.” The Captain said softly, then looked around again.

This time, when he spoke, he addressed his friends.

“Anything else we should know?”

Loki was surprised when it was Romanov who spoke.

“Do you know how to remove the stitches in your mouth, Loki?” She sounded even, but he could read in her stance, in her face, her discomfort-- but he didn't trust it. She played him once. Who was to say she wouldn't do it again?

He paused for a long moment, then shook his head no.

Thor wasn't around, anyway. He was sure that Odin's wording in the spell was specifically so that only his glorious golden son, the one who was least likely to forgive Loki now, would be able to release him from this most heavy of his punishments.

“We'll figure something out.” Rogers promised, and Loki jerked his head up sharply, wishing that he could mock the Captain's optimism. His eyes must have been hard enough to do what he could not with his words, though, because Stark took a threatening step forward.

Barton held him back with a single arm, and Loki would have smiled if he could. Instead he twitched his fingers in a jaunty little wave, then lay back comfortably as the tables shifted and Romanov and Stark had to hold Barton back. Banner left abruptly, likely made uncomfortable by the strife, and it fell to the Captain to break them up and get them to leave.

He threw a narrow eyed glare back over his shoulder, and Loki shrugged, though his face contorted under the wave of pain that followed, and he was made to feel nauseous with the addition of pain from the stitches in his face on top of it.

Still, that didn't seem to make the Captain look satisfied. If anything, his frown deepened.

And then they were gone, and Loki was alone.

Again.

 

Two days later, in Midgardian measure, a sudden downpour announced as Thor returned to New York. Loki supposed he must count himself lucky that it took this long. He would, if these few days had been a reprieve from his looming demise, instead of merely a torturous wait for it.

The drugs the Midgardians used were either too weak, which left him feeling wrung and sore, or too strong, which left him fighting not to succumb to the sleep that fought always to overtake him.

And always his mind was in turmoil. He was most often alone, and still too weak to move himself from bed unaided. He suffered through the nights, unable to communicate his needs. This artificial heat they kept pumping around him was stifling and driving him to ever larger depths of misery. But that was nothing compared to the thunder that sounded, suddenly, in the wake of a day of clear skies. It was as effective as the horns of war, or the drums at an execution. It meant his death. And Loki was afraid.

Despite the warm, he found himself moving as much as he could, trying to hunch his way down into his blankets.

The door of his room creaked, but he refused to open his eyes. He had long known he was a coward. He didn’t think Thor would be surprised.

Heavy footsteps drew wordlessly closer, and he squeezed his eyes closed tighter, trying to curl in on himself as much as these medical restraints would allow. And then--

“Loki?” The voice was not what he expected, the figure looming over him not Thor at all.

He opened his eye a crack, scarcely hoping to believe that his brother’s friend in arms was here for some reason other than to hand him over for his death.

Still, in the dark, he drew himself together as best as he could and arched an eyebrow, a clear question-- what?

“Your sensors were going crazy-- they thought you were having a panic attack. Are you alright?”

Loki tilted his head and then looked out the window at the storm, then back at the Captain. He wished he could ask why they would send him, but that wasn’t going to be possible. Perhaps not ever again.

“The storm? Why are you-- oh, it’s. Um, it’s not Thor.” He sounded, if anything, more puzzled, as though unable to discern how or why Loki might fear Odin’s son. Loki let his brow knot, trying to communicate his confusion-- how could Thor not have told the Avengers of what had transpired between them? Why should he be unleashed upon Thor’s pet realm without its defenders at least informed of what and who was in their midst? If they knew, surely they would not be so kind as to see that he was healed, nor so surprised when he revealed his vulnerability, his fear of his foster family.

“It’s just a storm-- it blew in while you were asleep earlier. It’s supposed to be here for just a few days, and then move on. Are you going to be okay?”

Loki sighed through his nose and lifted one shoulder. It hurt, but it seemed they had found a stable mixture of pain killers now. He was awake and only in some pain. Rogers settled in closer.

“I remember when we first met, you said you weren’t fond of thunder… you meant Thor then, too, didn’t you?”

Loki nodded, then shrugged and shook his head. He probably wouldn’t have given a straight answer had he been able, but he’d much rather remind the good Captain of his inability than truly answer him.

Absently he reached up and plucked at one of the strings, braced for the pain and accepting of it, happy to focus on that rather than the dull throb of emotions in his chest.

But Roger’s reflexes were fast; he caught Loki’s hand though not without brushing against the leftmost stitch with a knuckle by accident.

Loki pulled his head back, only too late, and he cringed for the pain that did not come. Instead, there was a soft sound in Loki’s own voice, but different, as though his throat was an instrument, and the Captain had plucked at just the lowest of the strings.

As it vibrated and echoed around them, that stitch snapped, and his lips grew cold where the thread had been. Relief surged into the skin there, and he gasped, tugging the other strings in the process.

“What-- what did I do?” Rogers asked, taken aback. “Hang on--” He got up, crossed to the door, turned on the lights, and returned.

He reached up towards Loki’s lips, then paused to look Loki in the eyes.

“Can I--” Loki had rolled his eyes and grabbed Rogers’s hand, dragging it across the stitches.

But that time it only hurt, and Loki couldn’t help but let an anguished sound of despair out. He covered his mouth with his one free hand and squeezed his eyes closed, refusing to let Rogers see him cry.

“Wait, wait, what did… Loki, let me see.” His voice, which at first had been soft and soothing, turned strong and commanding. Loki paused, unused to being treated like this; firm but demanding. He shuddered and stilled, letting his hand slip away. Rogers took his chin between steady, gentle fingers and angled his face towards him. Loki opened his eyes, wary of some form of mocking derision, or even an attack.

“There you go. Take a deep breath. Now. Don’t actually touch them, but can you show me how my hand hit your mouth that caused that to come undone?”

Loki nodded once, then held the hand not lashed to the heart rate monitor out, waiting for the Captain to place his own hand in it.

Rogers blew out a harsh breath of air.

“I must be crazy.” He muttered, but he gave Loki his hand.

Loki rolled his eyes-- yes, so crazy, giving your hand to a man who can’t even lift his own body off the bed. He pressed the fingers into a fist, then tapped the second knuckle of the first finger until Rogers got the message and raised it a bit. Loki let go of his hand, then raised a finger and made a knocking motion midair. The good captain winced.

“Did it hurt?” Loki stared at him, not sure what the right answer was. But, it seemed that if this man was truly so good as he seemed to be, he would rather hear not. Loki shook his head no.

“Alright. I’m going to try again, okay? If it hurts this time we’ll stop.” Loki shrugged. He’d had worse. Much, much worse. Actually, the worst part of all of this was the bubble of hope. He could feel it expanding in his chest, and  he knew the real pain of this experiment would be the sudden deflation if-- when-- it failed.

He had come to so loathe hope. It was the sharpest blade any could wield against him.

The Captain looked him in the eyes, and then with a steady hand, plucked at the next string on his lips. Again came that sound, a harpist’s version of his voice, higher now. A single, pure, reverberating note, and at the end of it, with a sharp twang, the stitch snapped. He could now open just a little of the side of his mouth, and did so, inhaling the too warm air almost gratefully.

“Wow.” The Captain said. He held his hand up. “Should I do it again, or do you need a second?”

Loki glared silently and leaned forward, all but ordering him to continue.

“Alright, alright.” Rogers seemed almost to be laughing, and raised his hand again. Another note, another snap, another freed stretch, and they were halfway done.

Before the echoes of his spell-voice had even died out, he could see the misgivings in the Captain’s face. He hummed his challenge, half concern, and the Captain sighed.

“I’m just wondering, once I release you, if you’ll have your magic back, and how safe I’ll be.” He looked directly at Loki, who could only shook his head in answer. “Alright. I’m trusting you-- please don’t make me regret helping you.” It was so sincere that Loki felt a twist in his gut-- and knew that if he did have the option, he probably would have betrayed the Captain, just for that. Still, he plucked at the next in the series.

Loki’s snort was inaudible under the sound of the spell being released; but it was there just the same. He doubted Odin would tie his powers into these bindings, if they were not so stringent in their rules as he had originally supposed. When Odin had said that they could be undone only by a worthy man, a truly good man, he had supposed that meant that only those who had passed one of Odin’s tests would qualify, which would mean that the likelihood of them ever being undone was next to nil, for as far as he knew, the Alfather rarely tested, and when he did, fewer still were weighed worthy. Thor would never give Loki the aid he needed.

But if any good man could do it, if this good man could do it, he knew that Odin would not place his eggs all in a single basket. Besides, even if he had, Loki’s power would have been far too busy with healing for him to cause any immediate harm.

Still, the fact that the Captain continued without being able to know that was likely a contributing factor into why he was able to continue at all.

Twice more, he plucked at them, and twice more they fell, until Loki’s mouth was free. He opened and closed his lips, worked his jaw, and ran his fingers across, gathering the dripping blood and staring at it in wonder. The Captain handed him a damp towel from the bathroom, and he pressed it to his mouth, barely resisting the urge to suck the wet out of it. He held it over his lips until the ache had faded to a throb, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

“How does that feel? Do you need anything?” Captain Rogers prompted, and Loki was somewhat surprised to find him still seated beside him.

He thought for a long second, well aware that his first words after being released from his bound silence ought to have some weight to them.

“Thank you Captain.” He said, then, “I am tired, but in no more pain now than I was before. If you are taking requests, however, the room is stifling hot, and I would adore food that needs chewing.” His voice was rough and grainy from disuse, and it tore at his throat to speak.

Rogers looked at him as though he had grown a second head, and Loki sighed and fell back against his pillows, still too tired to expend large amounts of energy in staying upright for long periods of time.

 

When the silence had stretched on for another breath or two, he made a small noise of irritation in the back of his throat.

“What?” He demanded. That made Rogers stop staring and shake his head.

“That was… that was your voice. When I snapped them.” He sounded almost reverent.

“Yes, it was tangled up in the strings.” Loki was trying to be patient. “I’m not entirely sure but they may have been made of my vocal chords.” He cleared his throat a little. “Look I hate to be a bother but if you can’t make the room cooler may I at least have something to drink? I’d happily stick my head out the window if I thought I could stand long enough.”

The Captain’s cheeks grew flush and he ducked his head almost apologetically, only realizing he’d been staring when Loki reminded him of his all too human needs.

“I’m sorry, yeah, hang on.” He cast a glance at the other door, the bathroom, then seemed to think better and left the way he’d come in.

Loki sighed, happy to finally be alone.

The moment he was, the relief he’d been holding back washed over him, and he felt the tears dripping out from behind his closed eyes.

Even if he was maimed, unable to stand, unable to walk, unable to exist fully ever again, he had his words back. With that alone, provided he could ever slip the attentions and clutches of S.H.I.E.L.D., he could make his own way in this backward little realm.

He had not, honestly, been expecting Captain Rogers to return; he’d certainly not expected a man of his size to be capable of doing so as quietly as he did. But as a result, his nearly whispered, “Loki?” caused him to flinch, hard, and then moan as every ache within him was jostled.

Loki bit his lip, and Rogers looked much abashed.

“I brought you some water to start with. There’s tea with honey coming-- for your throat. And your doctors want to check before you get anything really solid to eat-- can you tell us how long your mouth was sewn up? You were already starting to show signs of malnutrition when we fou--”

“A year.” Loki interrupted, reaching up with greedy hands for the water.

The good Captain gaped.

“A-- a year? How are you not-- I mean. What. Who--?”

“Odin, the man who calls himself my father, saw fit to sew my lips shut, lest I regale his court with the truth of the circumstances surrounding my… state. I know not why; they wouldn’t have believed me had he allowed it.” The bitterness wasn’t hidden in his sardonic tone, nor did he even try. He lifted the glass to his lips with hands that shook with the weakness of his battered form.

The water flowed over his tongue, sweeter than it had ever tasted to him before. Swallowing was a treacherous task, but the reward as the liquid slid down his pipes was well worth it. He drained the rest of the glass.

“And-- the rest of this? Did your father do this as well?” The Captain sounded downright indignant, spitting the word father as if it was some sort of vituperation. Loki sympathized.

“No-- most of that was done before he reached me. Though he did watch, for a bit. I think it amused him--or at least, pleased him, certainly.” He shrugged and held his cup up for Rogers to reclaim, only to note that his was not the only hand shaking, though for different reasons, he was certain. He jerked his eyes to the Captain’s face and felt his lips curling into a jagged smirk.

“Why Captain, surely you aren’t pitying the villain for his punishments? After all-- you were one of those who willingly sent me straight back into Odin’s loving arms.”

The empty cup hit the side table loudly in the silence that followed, and Captain America stood stiffly. His lips pressed into a firm line, and Loki could see him reaching for the right thing to say. He had to admit to being somewhat impressed-- thinking before he spoke, really, where did Thor find him?

The Captain cleared his throat.

“There will be a nurse here shortly with your tea and oatmeal and I’m sure if you need anything else, you’ll only need to ask them. Please excuse me.”

And then like that, with no further commentary and without actually looking at Loki, Captain America all but marched out of the hospital room.

Loki would have laughed if he didn’t think it would hurt his throat terribly.

Look at the little hero, so full of guilt for his justice served. Had he never been forced to see the results before? Or was it simply because he had been harmed by the man who he’d called father? Perhaps the poor Captain was confused, part of his mind labelling Loki as victim, while another screamed that this was a villain. Had helping him to remove his threads humanized Loki to Captain Rogers? Clearly not Odin’s intent. But proof that whatever the case, Loki without powers did not mean a Loki powerless, after all. He luxuriated in that assurance and sat back to wait for the nurse’s arrival.

He was poked and prodded at, and the nurse insisted on sterilizing the punctures in his lips before he was brought his food. The wait, though, was entirely worth it. Even the bland, runny oats tasted wonderful. It had been far too long since he’d had any sustenance, save that given to him during his short time here, all of which had come from a tube.

He asked the nurse-- a man, how novel!-- that the temperature be lowered, as drastically as possible, but the man had furrowed his brow and insisted upon taking Loki’s temperature… then brought him another blanket.

The moment he was gone, Loki threw it, and all the others, to the floor. Or, more accurately, he tried to throw them and had to content himself with dropping them in an anticlimactic heap, when his arm shook too hard under the weight of them.

“Pathetic.” Was the last word to emerge from his mouth, on this first night of regained speech. And then there was heat, the darkness, and the silence, broken only by dreams.

_He lay alone, face pressed against something hard, something flat but gritty. A stone floor, washed over with years’ worth of built up dust and sand. It was hot. So hot, and he felt like he was dying. Nearly dying. He lingered too far on this side of life to have the peace that death could bring. Instead he felt pulled thin and each breath was a new agony to him. Someone approached and rolled him over, and the action made him discover that he had a spear sticking out of his side. Not just any spear-- Gungnir. His eyes fought to focus and though they slid over the man, never defining his form, he knew it to be Thor. Outside, pools of flame licked at the entrance to the cave. Musphelheim. He shuddered, and the motion shifted the spear within him. Thor, uncharacteristically silent, reached down and plucked it out. He looked up at the sky and finally spoke. “I’ve retrieved the only thing of value here, Heimdall.” He turned to glare at Loki, and Loki felt the wound in his side and the suffocating heat and the prick of tears at his eyes._

_“Don’t leave me!” he cried out, but the words stretched his flesh around his sewn together lips, the blood rushing into his mouth and making his words become garbled and weak, punctuated by his howl of anguish when his brother disappeared in a shower of light._

_And then there was_ heat, the darkness, and the silence.

 

When his eyes opened, he felt a great deal less than human, and even further removed from his true self. He felt slow; lethargic. Immediately, or as immediately as his mind could manage, his first thought was that they had chosen to drug him to compensate for his freed speech. His entire body thrummed in time with his too fast, irregular heartbeat, his every ache made even stronger by the force of his blood flow.

And he was alone.

He felt aflame, his mouth and throat blisteringly dry. He found himself squirming and trying to roll away from the warmth, when suddenly a sharp pain to his side made him fall still and sent him tumbling to the floor amidst the shrill shrieks of his mechanical nurse maids.

At least, he mused distantly while pressing his blazing brow to the cool of the linoleum, at least he had escaped those flames for now. Even if he was tangled like a puppet whose strings had been half cut.

He drifted there for an indeterminate time, until several heavily booted shoes came through the doorway. Not nurses, but soldiers. Because ill though he was, he was above all else a threat.

Or he would be, he supposed, if he could but summon the strength to roll, to see who had come.

 

“Pete’s sake.” He heard, then found himself being lifted gently by strong hands. He whimpered and tried to cling to the floor and shook when he found himself enveloped by something even warmer than the room. He was held close to this burning wall. He tried weakly to squirm away and again came the sharp pain in his side, making him slump and give in for how light his head felt.

“Loki? Loki. Can you talk to me?” One hand tilted his head back, until his lazily lidded eyes could make out the man holding him, the blonde hair haloed by a light, and his face swimming through the liquid that Loki could not banish from his eyes.

“Th...ooor?” It was drawn out, disbelieving and yet hungry for it, and he didn’t even have the presence of mind to be ashamed. End it or aid him, either way, Thor would make this pain and heat abate.

“No, we haven’t heard from him. Loki, what’s the matter? You were fine last night.” The voice had been wrong; he should have realized. The Captain. He stiffened, trying to summon a sneer to face and managing only a grimace.

“Captain, it’s so warm.” He felt like he was whining, and he shook under the hands that helped him now back into his bed.

A nurse timidly crossed the room and began replacing the plugs of the wires which had come out.

“There’s no fever…” She announced, trailing off, and Rogers shook his head.

“No fever for what? He’s… whatever Thor is, an Asgardian, an alien… he isn’t human. Look at him. Does he look like he’s normal?”

“Frost giant.” He murmured, suddenly understanding. “Much colder than you.” The Captain didn’t look appalled as Loki would have expected. He just nodded and began snapping out orders.

Orders for a bath to be drawn, chill water, and for cool drinks. Questions about what Loki had been fed and what needed to be done before he could be moved.

Within minutes, the whole of the room was mobilized. The soldiers left. And Loki realized that he still hadn’t released the Captain’s hand.

In his daze, he remembered his words from the previous night. He meant to express his apologies, to tell Rogers that he was not really responsible for what had befallen him on Asgard. All that escaped his lips was a soft breath. The room’s windows were opened and the cool breeze from outside danced over his skin, causing his heart rate to slow.

Indignities he had been unaware of until now were made apparent to him as the flexible tube they’d inserted to relieve him when he could not see to the need himself was removed, along with flat pieces which seemed to have been glued to his torso and the sides of his head. He hadn’t registered earlier when he was on the floor, but as the cool returned it brought with it his mind, and he became utterly aware of how Captain Rogers stood stiffly and silently at his side. He looked away to give Loki privacy, but did not leave.

Apparently he was missed, for as Loki was being sat up, Romanov returned in search of him.

She entered, spared a momentary glance at Loki, being slowly propelled vertical by the bed shifting below him, and then her gaze slid to her leader.

“Cap.” She greeted. Her tone was even, but her eyebrows betrayed it for the inquiry it was.

“They’ve been treating him like a human patient. He’s not-- when we got here he had fallen out of his bed and was in… it looked like a fever. The bad kind. He’s slowly evening out.” Rogers was terse, his jaw ticking as though he was irritated that the oversight had happened. Loki wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“Steve, he looks human. How were they supposed to know? When his lips were sealed we were more worried about all the blood and--”

Loki shifted at this, realizing he was unaware of the extent of his own injuries. But again, that cursed pain made him still, only this time he cried out-- and felt the instant flush of humiliation. No warrior would make such sounds over so small a pain.

He squeezed his eyes closed until it faded, then opened them, realizing they were staring.

“Apologies.” He croaked. “There is something… my side. Very painful.” He gestured as though that made his weakness more acceptable.

Rogers’s brow knotted and Romanov grabbed for his chart. She flipped through three pages, then back again.

“They didn’t find anything wrong with that side, save for some bruising that has already cleared up.” She reported, and Rogers finally moved away from Loki to have his own look at the chart. From Loki’s feet, he faced him.

“Loki, is it alright if I have a look? It may be that one of your ribs was broken and we didn’t notice-- I want to be sure that it isn’t going to cause you any more harm.”

Loki flapped his hand permissively. “If you please.” He said, though he was grateful that at least they meant to patch his ailments up before committing him to whatever his next round of punishment was meant to be.

“I had no idea you knew anything about this sort of thing.” Romanov muttered, sizing Rogers up out of the corner of her eye. Loki knew she was filing this away for later potential use, though whether it was for Rogers’s benefit or disadvantage, he would be interested to find out. If she was anywhere near so good as he thought she was, she wouldn’t know herself.

Captain Rogers lifted him and helped him turn to face the rest of the room, his back to the side Rogers stood on. He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him and wondered what the state of his body must be to upset even a soldier so lauded as Captain America.

The gown that draped from his shoulders was lifted and he felt those warm hands playing against his skin. This time, though, he was ready for it, clearer of mind-- he did not shy away.

He winced as the Captain applied pressure and something shifted inside of him.  

“Natasha, can you see about getting him an X-ray ordered? I want to get him in a bath to lower his internal temperature, but I don’t want to move him until I know what’s wrong.”

“Yeah, or.” Came a new voice, “We call in Tony and have him scan the invalid.” Stark stepped in and dodged Romanov’s glare, drawing up short when he reached The Captain’s side. “What the hell happened to your back?” He asked, a hint of panic under the acerbic humor. Loki took note of that as well, knowing what Barton had told him of the Iron Man’s past, of the time he had spent as a hostage. He wondered if his own tortures reminded him of that cave-- wondered if this might be another potential ally for him. Odin could have done much better to place him far from where he may influence such powerful people as Thor’s chosen companions.

“Jesus, the whole damn thing is patched up-- what did--”

Loki hunched forward, uncomfortable with the attention while unable to see what they were looking at. He knew what had been done, of course he did. But he didn’t know how much worse it may have gotten without his magic to heal it, and while he spent weeks laying on his back in the midgardian filth. He shifted, his shoulders drooping in, trying to make himself smaller but stretching the skin in question-- and again upsetting whatever was the source of the pain above his hip.

“Leave it be for now Tony-- can you really scan him? I think he’s got a broken rib that’s floating in there--” The Captain started, and Stark held his hand up for silence. Having been granted it, he grinned and theatrically flipped open his cufflink, allowing it to expand and fill out over his palm. He pulled out his phone and brushed almost idly over the screen, and then held his hand out over Loki’s shoulder to check.

Loki flinched, remembering the blasts of power that had come from Iron Man’s hands before, but this time that wasn’t the case. He saw Stark notice, and smirked internally. Stark nodded and The Captain placed his hand on Loki’s shoulder.

“Can you lift your arm for us?” He asked, and Loki scoffed and complied, only to find that the moment the limb was up, it wanted to sag. His muscles were weaker than he’d thought, and that terrified him.

Rogers caught him up around the bicep, his hand going almost all the way around it, and Loki shivered at the realization of how thin he’d gotten.

Stark paused. “There’s no discoloration, no marks…” but he passed his hand over the area and almost immediately panned back up. “But what is that?”

“May I?” Loki asked, and Stark passed the screen to him, hesitating for only an instant. There, on the live feed and nestled between his ribs, sat a metal point, two sharp edges and one jagged and broken..

“Did someone break a knife off in you? There’s no entry wound…” Romanov sounded confused, peering around the opposite side of the bed.

“Gungnir.” Loki whispered, then handed the phone back. “It is likely it will have to stay there.” He offered no further explanation, shifting instead. The pain was just as sharp, but now that he knew, he could feel the after effects, the tearing feeling followed by the familiar heat of healing magic-- this was also why he could not be cool enough.

“What is it made of? That’s no metal we know.” Stark sounded intrigued.

“Sunlight.” Loki replied shortly. “According to the dwarves who forged it. Though they are known to--ah. Lie. As much as me.” His words became pained near the end, and he held his side while twisting to address the Captain. “I heard you have a bath for me? I rather think I could use that now, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Now, wait. What do you mean it may have to stay there?” Captain Rogers seemed to be having problems processing, but that didn’t make him lose his ability to command an answer. Loki sighed, sensing that this was prolonging the time he spent in this sweltering room, made worse by the press of bodies around him.

“Uru is an enchantment friendly material--” He leaned over and waited for the pain to abate before continuing to talk, trying to be sure what he had to say would not be interrupted. “It seizes onto any magic and amplifies it. Mine has been drained to the very dregs, but it is making use of what is left. The heat I feel comes from the damage it continuously does... and then through our combined magics, it heals me, only to destroy me again. Don’t look so alarmed, it isn’t the first time I’ve had such cycles visited upon me.”

“So what you’re saying is you think if we cut you open near it, it would just heal before we could get it out?” Stark sounded skeptical at best. It seemed he distrusted that Asgard’s magic might best his beloved science. Shame, he seemed so intelligent, too.

“Or that if you did get it out, the damage you do would be unable to heal enough without it. I cannot say how life threatening the damage may be, primarily because I have always had my sorcery to stitch my wounds in the past, and not been anywhere near so mortal as I am now.” The vitriol with which he used the word seemed to alarm Romanov for a moment, or at least surprise her, but then she schooled her face back into its impassive mask.

“Our doctors can take care of that. But you realize this means we should get them to operate on you… Oh, Steve, Nat, Fury sent me because you took too long down here. He still wants your report on why Raggedy Ann can talk now and anything he’s said so far-- guess that means I’ll be filing one, too.” He looked so disgruntled at the prospect that Loki could only be glad to have caused him some minor irritation, until he was better capable to cause mischief.

Loki pulled a face, glad to at last be able to express himself with more than eyes and limp hand waving.

“Please, before you go, drag me to your baths. Leave me there if you need, only let me cool. I cannot stand this heat, and whatever damage the shard of Gungnir may do, it will just as quickly undo.” He realized he was pleading, but it was true; he couldn’t stand this infernal heat any longer.

“Nat, Tony, you go ahead. I just want to get him situated and give instructions to the nurses to check up on him. I’ll be right along.” Rogers suggested. The others shared a look that said they would speak of this later, but nodded and left, though not without casting suspicious glances back at Loki.

“Why do you insist on being the one to see to me? Surely Captain America has better things to do than play nursemaid to his enemy. Your friends will say I’ve ensorcelled you.” Now that his lips were free, they felt loosened. He found himself speaking in torrents as if to compensate for the broken dam.

“I was the one who found you.” Rogers replied simply, circling the bed to stand on the side closer to the bathroom. “Whoever left you here dropped you in Central Park, near where you and Thor left. And you’re lucky I run early in the morning. If someone else had found you, if they would have recognized you the way I did… Not that it was easy, mind you. You were so covered in blood and bruises and dirt, I wasn’t sure you were a man, let alone you.” He kept his voice soft and steady, the tone soothing even if the words were not, while he gathered Loki into his arms as if he were nothing but an over long child.

“If your citizenry had found me, I would have a great deal more to worry about than the room temperature. So I suppose I should thank you for that, as well.” He admitted grudgingly, the words pulled through his teeth as he gritted them from the pain.

Rogers knelt, still holding Loki, by the side of the tub.

“It’s been sitting for a while, but go ahead and feel it. I want to make sure it isn’t too cold for you.”

Loki laughed.

“Thor and his kind may come from the summerlands, but my kind come from a realm of unending winter. I promise that your cool water will do me no harm.”

Still, he dipped his fingers in, the splash as the weight of his arm caused the water to be displaced around it hiding the sigh he let out, already anticipating being mostly submerged.

“It’s good.” He assured the man.

Rogers sat him up on the edge of the tub and held him in place with a steadying hand on the base of the back of his neck. He undid the simple laces on Loki’s gown and let it fall to the floor, then began pulling gently at the medical tape that bound cotton pads to his chest, stomach, and, finally, his back.

Loki had to be turned to give Rogers access to his back, and again came the intake of breath, once the cotton was pulled away.

“What does it mean?” the human breathed. “Is it… some kind of writing?”

Loki scoffed. “A list of my sins, is that what you think it is? I suppose that would not be so far off. Put me in the water and I will tell you.” He gestured at the tub and The Captain gathered him up and lay him in it, careful not to jar him too roughly, and even more careful not to impugn his modesty with so much of a glance that crept further than his chest.

As the water lapped at all his hurts, he shuddered and let himself slide deeper into it. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began.

“The wounds you see on my back are the native markings of my kind. This form, this shape, was imposed upon me shortly after my birth-- when Odin Alfather kidnapped me from my native lands. I grew, thinking myself his son, reared alongside the whelps of his kind, but always inferior by their standards. After Thor and Odin recovered me from the Chitauri and The Other’s grasps, Odin had me bound and stripped before the court. He forced me into my true form, he--” Loki took a deep breath, realizing the words had been tumbling forth faster and faster. He cleared his throat.

“Please-- may I have something to drink? I’m afraid such horrors make thirsty storytelling.” He intentionally played the part of the demure and ashamed victim. It wasn’t too far from his truth. He was humiliated, hurt beyond just the scars that would be left with him. But deep in his gut still burned the cold fires of resentment, and that would go far towards the reparations of his spirit, assuming his body recovered.

Captain Rogers returned with the glass that had been beside his bed, and his face was again the stiff lipped mask that he wore to attempt and hide his feelings. It was little use against so keen a manipulator as Loki, though-- its very presence suggested he was doing what he intended. He finished the glass and opened his mouth to continue.

“You don’t--” Rogers interrupted, before casting his eyes to the side and clearing his throat. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want.”

“I owe you at least some explanation.” Loki said softly, pleased to find the leader of the Avengers playing right into his hands. “Besides… after going so long unable to speak of anything, it does me such good to be able to unburden myself of it all.” Loki sighed. “Though if you do not wish to hear it, I understand. It is a great deal of ugliness to color someone you consider a friend, and besides.” He gave the Captain a self deprecating little smile. “Why should you even believe me?”

“I believe you!” Rogers hastened to assure him, but Loki just shook his head.

“Go. Do as your Director commands. Have your healers fish me out and redress my wounds when they judge it best. We may speak more of this later, if you can stand my company and the tale I have to tell.”

He saw Rogers’s confliction and closed his eyes, sinking his ears beneath the water that he may not have to hear or see the other. It made The Captain’s decision for him. When he pulled his head out of the water and opened his eyes, The Captain was gone. He leaned back against the cold porcelain and let the relief sink into his very bones.

And he planned what he should do next.


	2. Two

His next visitor surprised him. He would not have expected to see Stark here, and especially not so cheerfully, implying that it was his own choice, rather than an assignment.   
“Stark.” He greeted, inclining his head only the slightest bit. Enough to acknowledge without hurting himself any.   
“Loki.”   
“Ah so you do know my name. I’d begun to wonder.” He kept his words crisp and cool, but made his face wary. His sudden mortality was subduing, but not enough to make him actually cease to play the games that made up his person. He watched as Stark paced through the room spastically, his back to Loki while he looked over every monitor and every machine Loki was hooked to. He didn’t turn back towards him when he spoke again.  
“No, of course. Hard to forget the name of the guy who almost killed absolutely everything. So you know, hard to justify that image with,” He turned then to gesture at Loki in bed, before finishing, “This one.”   
“I needn’t point out to you that time works differently in different realms. I was held in one that, for me, has made time longer than it has here. It’s been a few months for you, but several years have passed in my cognisance. And, I think you know, too, how the years can change a man.”   
“Years of torture you mean. I wasn’t gone that long… but I’m sort of curious how you were. All powerful god guy like yourself.”   
Loki smiled thinly, aware too of the unspoken opinion that people like him didn’t change. The closest to honest sentiment that Stark had given him since he had awakened. The question was why. They weren’t there just yet, but Loki was willing to bite.  
“Ah, is that all? You think Odin is the only one who can make me powerless, make me weak? There are many ways to hold a man, many ways more to hold his magic. It’s true-- I could have run. But their hold on me would be like someone holding your lungs. If you ran and they were pulled from your body, you would collapse as surely as I did, the moment I tried. And don’t think I didn’t try.” He grimaced, an act put on entirely for Stark’s benefit. Loki had lived thousands of years, and been through much. A short time in physical pain would no more break him than months in his cell in Asgard had, before that. He was broken, fractured more like. But not by that. Still, let them think so. Let them underestimate him. He would use it to his advantage.

He watched Stark watching him, his face doing an exquisite tap dance of emotions. Half of them were him dangling at the strings from Loki’s fingers, like a master puppeteer, and half of them were him resisting. The resistance won and he looked away.  
“Yeah, we’ll see.” He mumbled. “But fine. What did they want from you? There had to be a reason behind it.” He sounded so cavalier and dismissive of Loki’s hardships that Loki couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. A nebulous hero at best, this one. And Loki was growing bored with his refusal to behave politely and give as many answers as he got.

“Who is it who decided to send you to learn of this? Why not the Widow? She has a history of gaining knowledge from me against any judgement on my part. She would be the readiest choice. Or Captain Rogers, whom I have been freely granting information to.” Thus far, he did not add. 

“Yes and why is that?” Stark asked, seizing onto the last point rather than answering the question. As if Loki wouldn’t notice. 

The options for answers to that flitted through his head. Because he has been kind, because he is respectful. Because he listens.   
“I like him.” He said instead, simply. He punctuated the statement with a shrug and then a wince. 

“Yeah?” Stark sounded like the answer took him off guard. “Yeah. Well.” His face and stance shifted, and it was clear he was trying to make himself larger, contriving to look menacing. “Lots of people like him. You watch your step, because we won’t hesitate to protect him.” He even had a relatively convincing, even toned growl. Coming, though, as Loki did, from a realm stocked full of warriors that were easily double if not thrice the man Stark was, it was less effective than he probably would have liked. Just the same, Loki shrank back, willing to allow himself to be misjudged. 

This, it turned out, was the perfect decision on his part, for the tableau that Captain Rogers walked in to see was a harassed, scared, and wounded Loki looking altogether small in his hospital bed, with Tony Stark looming intimidatingly over him, one finger still pointed in the most threatening stance Loki could have conjured up. 

“Tony, what are you doing?” He demanded, and Loki would have laughed at how Stark deflated under the good Captain’s glare, if he weren’t busy playing the victim. Instead, he made himself look relieved as much as possible. He turned his face gratefully toward his savior. 

“We were just doing a little bonding. Lots in common, you know. Torture, hair color.” Stark started his defensive ramble, but it halted immediately under Rogers’s stern look. He raised his hands. “I’ll leave.” He gave Loki one last warning glare, and Rogers’s eyes followed Stark all the way out of the room. Once he was gone, Loki let out a soft sigh, pulling Rogers’s attention back to himself. 

“Why was he here?” Rogers asked, but his voice oozed compassion that Loki would have suspected false coming from any other’s lips. Had Rogers not been able to remove the ensorcelled stitches, he may even have disbelieved it of him. 

“He was questioning me about my torture, and warning me off of betraying you. Though I am not sure what he expects me to do. Perhaps he thinks my saliva contains poison.” He spoke sardonically, but wondered how far it was from the truth. Stark had seemed overly interested in his vitals. Was he attempting to gain access to Loki himself, for experimentation?

“I don’t know about that, but I wouldn’t put it past him.” Loki considered the tone, trying to gauge the Captain’s mood. He seemed cheerful enough. Discordant, considering the note that they had parted on.

The Captain was smiling at that quip, though, so Loki reminded himself not to tarnish the good feeling currently being attributed to him in Rogers’s mind. He reached for something civil to say.  
“How have you fared, Captain Rogers? I hope my regained speech did not cause you overmuch hardship in your reporting process.” 

“No, I’ve been good. Turns out when I was presumed dead, some of my stuff was put in a storage locker-- I guess they thought there might be a museum exhibit for me at some point. Anyway, I got a taste of home earlier. That was nice.” He kept the slight smile around his mouth, but looked around the barren room, as though stricken with inspiration. Loki saw where this might go, and hurried to nip it in the bud. 

“You are a fascinating man, Captain. Home for you is a time rather than a place. I suppose I join the ranks of that small club-- my home was conditional upon my ignorance, and knowledge, once won, is not so easily lost. So like you, my home lies mostly in memories now.” He looked away, his emotional response at the truth behind the words only half feigned. 

“I’m sorry. That’s… hard, I know, and the situations differ, so I also. Can’t imagine.” The good Captain paused, obviously weighing his words. “If there’s anything you miss… I mean not that I can pop to Asgard and get it or anything, but… maybe there’s an Earth equivalent?” He stopped short. “Sorry, that was a dumb idea.” He blew air out noisily while brushing his hand backwards through his hair, sending it sprawling every which way in the process. 

Loki wished he was able to get up and smooth it down. He thought that was the sort of physical closeness that the Captain would find unremarkable enough to let slide, without realizing that he was just being trained into accepting it. Though Loki had no aspirations on the man, he knew physical closeness increased the feelings of bonding and loyalty. It was a simple study of the minds of men, and the sort of games usually reserved for the women of court. Women, and those like Loki who were wise enough to see the power behind soft words and gentle touches.

“It is a very kind sentiment, and I thank you for it. That said… it does seem silly to waste the energy and time, when you do not even know what your superiors will do with me once I am… well enough.” He swallowed for show, then weighed his inability to reach out to the Captain with his body, he attempted to draw him closer with his words. He pulled back to his thoughts from earlier and spoke, affecting a tremor. “You… you wouldn’t allow them to cut me apart whilst I live, would you?” 

“What?” The Captain said sharply. He sat down and clasped Loki’s hand. Loki looked down at is, logging this success. “Why would you-- did Tony say something?” He sounded aghast, and Loki knew then that there was no truth to it. Or at least, not that Rogers knew of. 

“...So they do mean to, then?” He closed his eyes and made as if to pull his hand away, which he though he was probably strong enough to do now, though he allowed Rogers to think him feeble. After his attempt he left it still, gratified when the Captain pulled back, trying to give Loki the space he could not take for himself. “Please, Captain, if that’s to be my fate, do me at least the small mercy of killing me first. I cannot stand to be… to be stripped apart from myself. Not again.” It came out as hardly a whisper, and he locked his clouded green eyes with Captain America’s overly blue ones, well aware that in begging the man for his life, he was forging in him a protective urge that even his superiors would find hard to break through. 

“Again?” Rogers’s voice sounded strangled, and this time it was Loki who reached out; Loki who took his hand. 

“Please.” he pushed the point with false urgency that sounded as fearful as he could make it. 

“Loki, no one is going to do that to you. We have laws against… against that kind of inhumane treatment. What made you even think that? Did Tony-- did Stark threaten you?” 

Loki got nervous. True though he did want to drive the wedge between Stark and Rogers, he didn’t want to villify himself in doing so. For the time being it best suited his interests to play the victim… and to be sure any claims that Stark, the brilliant mind of the group, may make against him, would be dismissed. 

“He didn’t say anything like it, no. I just… he was overly interested in his survey of me the other day, and today he inspected all of--” He gestured at the machines that held all of the information about his body on them. “And besides Thor, it isn’t as though your people have had dealings with any outsiders, before New York. And none like me. The Chitauri were eager to see what chemical processes made my magics, eager to try to replicate them. I cannot imagine your scientists would be less curious.” 

Rogers relaxed and Loki had to suppress a groan at a plan thwarted.   
“Tony invented a lot of the machines used here. He was probably interested in how they were responding to your non human readings. But… even if they wanted to take samples of you,” and he made a face while saying so, “there would be no need for torture, or cutting you up or…. whatever happened to you before. They would just dip a needle in, take a little blood, or whatever it is they need. Everything is as unobtrusive as possible in our medicine.”

“Your people have a strange view of unobtrusive. I had pipes laid in the most private of places, and they couldn’t even give me dinner first.” 

Steve sputtered out a disbelieving laugh. “How do you do that? How do you go from being afraid you’re going to be carved up to making jokes?” He made it sound as though it were some great power, some mystery that Loki alone possessed. 

“May I tell you a secret, Captain?” Loki asked, not employing his acting skills, just this once, and letting his amusement show through. 

“Alright.” Rogers agreed readily enough, obviously expecting something light hearted. Loki left the smile on his face as he began talking. 

“I am the god of Mischief-- not the god of evil. I am known for making merry at others’ expense, and for causing contained chaos and wreaking minor havoc.” He shook his head. “Jokes, Captain, were what brought me joy growing up. What set me apart, the positive spin I gave my weak form and traditionally sinister looks and sorcery. I tried to be someone who would fit into the pantheon of my false father’s court, in my own right.” He sighed a little wistfully. “As you can see, that did not work well for me.” 

“Hmm.” The Captain made a small noise, then sat up straighter. “I think Tony was right about you, Loki. You’re dangerous, even without your spells.” 

“What makes you say that?” He challenged, more than happy to hear of something that would make him feel less confined to this broken, aching body, this tiny plastic bed and these too-white walls. 

“When you talk, it’s easy enough to almost forget who you are-- what you did. How many people have died because of you.” 

Loki’s mouth hardened, and he twisted his lips, keeping the words he’d given Odin so long ago at bay-- I hardly see what all the fuss is about. Instead, he looked away, composing himself before giving the Good Captain his eyes again.   
“Perhaps you’re right. This is what they have warned you about, is it not? Me poisoning your mind. But then… if I were truly so dangerous, would you be aware of it? There is no spellcraft behind what I say now, no weight but that which truth and horror can give.” He gave his one armed shrug, the sort that he’d found delivered the least pain possible. Still, he winced as Gungnir shifted within him. 

“I don’t know, Loki,” The Captain sounded tired, and Loki, with some surprise, experienced a pang of regret at the thought of him leaving in so much worse spirits than he had arrived in. And not just for his own plans-- true though it was best if the Captain had fond thoughts partnered with Loki’s name, this was… something other. He truly was grateful to the man, and he was actively misusing him. The very least he could do was give him back the smile he had brought into the room. 

“If you fear that having knowledge of my life will make it too difficult for you to act as you must when the time comes to see me punished, we will speak of other things. Tell me, Captain, what of yours have you been reunited with? This taste of home. What did it taste of?” 

Rogers looked conflicted, like he wanted to pursue the first point, but chose to let it pass. He settled into his chair more comfortably. “My sketchbook. I.. I’ve always liked drawing. Well. Doodling, I guess. I’m not very good at it. But I used to draw the people and places around me.”  
“And where and when were you, that you were drawing? Where you grew up?” Loki prodded. He knew the very vaguest outlines of The Captain’s history thanks to the briefing given to him by Barton when he was under his command. But the more he knew of the man’s life, the more he would have to build off of. Where the good Captain seemed to fear Loki’s growing humanization in his mind, Loki welcomed the Captain’s for the weaknesses it would show him.

The Captain frowned.   
“No. I mean, there were a couple of sketches in it of Brooklyn, but they were drawn from memory. The street I grew up on, the corner deli, the cars that always parked there. Not the same as having a picture, of course, but… it still felt like being back there, for just a minute. And the rest.” He paused. “It shouldn’t be some of the better memories of my life, and a lot of it was really terrible, but the rest of the drawings were from when we were at war. As horrible as it is-- was-- and war is horrible, don’t get me wrong but…” He trailed off, obviously uncomfortable. 

“But you felt useful, is that it? I do understand, you know, being the runt of both of my respective litters. Learning my magic did much the same for me as your serum did for you.” 

“That…” He said slowly, his eyes going distant as he saw another time. “But also the people. I had only ever had one friend, two at a time. Suddenly I had friends who were-- they were brothers. Would have died for me. Some of them did.” 

“For all that it was the happiest time of your life, it seems the most painful as well.” Loki observed, watching his face as it went through his feelings. It was refreshing to see someone so open, so unconcerned with being readable. “What did you draw while you were at war?” 

“People. My friends, the people we helped, the people who celebrated when we walked down the street. The people who called us heroes and meant it-- I know this is going to sound terrible, but I feel like, now, in this time, hero is… it’s a job title. It’s a self congratulatory term. The first time someone called me a hero, I was shocked and surprised, and it took me a minute to understand why.” He shook his head. “But that’s probably just the times. Then it was about trying to do your best to make the world better for everyone, about seeing the world for what it was, and what it could be, and forcing it to live up to its promise. Now it’s very mercenary, everyone is hardened against everyone else, and just trying to carve out a little comfort, make the world better for themselves.”

“Is that the case? Or is it that your status as a hero has brought you into the higher societies, where that is often true? For example, I… and I am not overly proud to admit it, but as a young man I would sometimes leave my father’s court for days on end, live in the more humble houses of our people, as one of them. Under a glamour that I might go unrecognized. And that was how I knew most of the kindness in my life, as well as how I doled out some of my kindest acts.”

Steve stared for a minute, then shook his head.   
“What happened to you to turn you from that to taking over New York? And between then and now?”

“I thought you didn’t wish to know. It’s easier for you if you can manage to keep me firmly held in your mind as the enemy, isn’t it?” His lips curved in a smile that was really a challenge. “But the hero in you is demanding that you take care of the victim. So what is it to be Captain? Am I a victim or a villain, or can it be both?”

“I don’t think there’s a word for what you are. You can find ways to turn being a victim into a weapon to be wielded for your own benefit. It’s impressive, but until I know what you’re working towards, I don’t know what to think of you… what to do with you. And despite what you say, I know I can’t trust you. For all I know, this entire story you’ve told me was just manufactured to gain sympathy.” 

“Whatever happened to ‘I believe you!’?” He mocked, then sobered. “I am being honest with you, Captain. It is my gift to you for your rescuing me, for your kindness. For not killing me on sight when I arrived in your world. Accept it for what it is, if you can. As for what I am working towards, right now I am working towards discovering if I will ever be whole again, physically. It is not a thing I have ever had to fear before, but now it is chief among my concerns. Immediately following that is my worry over what further punishments I will befall at the hands of your superiors, once I am determined to be ready to receive them. Beyond that, I have elected not to worry; for unless the Alfather takes mercy, I have no doubt that I will be left here as I am until I die. It is akin to being told that you have a year left, Captain. It is daunting and crushing, and yet, if I cannot so much as raise myself from the bed, perhaps it is for the best. I don’t look forward to the tortures that lay ahead of me, and this waiting is even worse. But more than that I fear the void that it seems I will be facing all too soon. And so if I leave my stories with you, at least one will remember me. As I truly am. Was.”

“I did some reading up on you. Everything I can find says that you lie, that you can be very convincing. How do I know what you’re saying is real?”

Loki stared at him for a long second, attempting to think of some way he could show his words to be reliable. 

“I am powerless to furnish you proof. All that I can do is tell you the truth, and let you decide, with your reputation of fair judgement, whether or not things have come to pass as I say they did. Like as not Thor will arrive before I finish my story to finish me, anyway, and then you will hear his side of matters. But-- my story is a prelude to my honesty now, and only hearing it may convince you.”

“Why do you seem so convinced that Thor is going to show up to kill you? Ever since you got here you seem to have been on guard for it.” The Captain had an edge of nerves about him, asking that-- likely afraid again that it was something he’d rather not hear from Loki. 

“Ever since I woke, I have been surprised he did not give you information regarding my punishment. Really, Rogers, whom do you suppose restrained me, that the Einherjar might mark me as the beast I am and sew the lies behind my lips?”

“Well, you did try to take over our world. You did kill… hundreds, Loki, there are whole files, names and details of the lives of everyone who died because of your need to rule.” The Captain was indignant, trying to defend the justice dealt, though his uncertainty showed on his face.

“You think this violence is for your world?” He snorted. “Hardly. For that I was merely given a-- what’s the phrase Barton uses? A slap on the wrists? I was placed in a luxurious cell. No, that is not what these punishments were for.”

“What could you possibly have done--” 

“Saved myself. Faked my death. Imprisoned Odin. Impersonated him. Made a better ruler than any thought possible. Then I was exiled. And then, in the hands of the Chitauri, when I broke, my magics brought Thor and Odin to me. I put them in danger. They rode to war over it, and won. Ultimately, I was punished for humiliating them.” He had been indignant when he started speaking, but the further he went, the sadder he got. He tried to shake himself out of it, but saw the Good Captain watching him. He offered a sour smile, part smirk, part grimace, but none of it hiding the despair that had settled into the pit of his gut.  
“Between us, I would have died sooner than let my magic snap if I had known that would be the result. When I was driven from Asgard, Odin said he would kill me if I ever returned. The Chitauri’s torture made me wish to die. I thought the magic would transport me back, make my suffering end. I never meant to bring them into harm’s way. Not like that.” 

“You seem to be guilty about the wrong things. You tried to rule this world, then you betrayed your family to rule Asgard. What’ so important about being King?”

“Has Thor truly told you nothing of how all of this came to pass?”

The Captain mutely shook his head. 

Loki sighed.   
“I will tell you. I will tell you the truth as I know it. I would swear upon my own life which, as you will come to learn, I value above most things. But for now… for now let me rest and compose my thoughts. Tell me more of your Brooklyn, as you knew it.” 

“Are we trading stories now, Loki?” The Captain asked, his brows raising incredulously. 

“I’ve no better way to pass the time, Captain, and tedium turns all too quickly into despair.” Loki gave his half shrug, carefully trying to avoid the cycle of pain and healing that it would bring. 

“I’ll make sure to bring you some books next time I visit. In the meantime, what do you want to know? I’m not telling you anything about S.H.I.E.L.D. or the process that turned me into Captain America.” 

“I want to know what it is that is so wonderful that you should pledge yourself to this one small corner of your world. Why America? I have seen more of this planet than I judge strictly necessary, and there is not much that seems to put one part of it above the rest.”

Rogers seemed to be thinking for a moment, his lips thinning as he pressed them together. Loki was certain he’d offended, but wasn’t sure how he should rectify it, when Rogers finally spoke. 

“When you were growing up, in Asgard, did they tell you-- did you hear stories about other places? Like… here. You already had an opinion of Earth before you came, right?” 

“Of course.” He said, refusing to rise to the opportunity to speak more about himself. It was a shortcoming, he knew, his ability to turn most things to be about him. And he needed to be listening to Rogers now, learning.

“Well when I was a kid, all I heard was how much better we had it than everywhere else. This was the land where opportunity happened. People were moving here from other places all the time-- they wouldn’t do that if this wasn’t the better option; the best option. And then the war broke out.” He pursed his lips.   
“I’ve seen the video from Stuttgart, before I got there. There was a man who compared you to the tyrant who was at the heart of the war that I… the one I fought in, the one I froze in.”

Loki didn’t flinch at the last, the harsh way the Captain said it. He simply nodded. “Barton mentioned that. Tell my what brought you to fight? Was it the glory of the battlefield? Or the hope that you could prove yourself useful somehow?”

“Not at all. It wasn’t like that. Not really. There had been another war not long before, and a lot of Americans died from it for no real good reason. Or at least that was how we felt at the time. Communication wasn’t great, so we only knew what we were told. And we were told that Europe was turning into a powder keg, and that we should be neutral, stay out of it. America wasn’t ready for another war, America didn’t want another war.”

“And yet that was what you got.” Loki imagined some leader like Thor charging, ill prepared, into battle.

“We weren’t really neutral. We all sort of knew it-- at least, we did in Brooklyn. Stuff got shipped out all the time. Tanks, guns. We were supplying Europe, arming them. But we weren’t doing the same for the other side of the fight. If we were really neutral we would have done both or neither. But… that was just what happened. We were helping the side we all knew was right… but. It all changed when they attacked Pearl Harbor. Japan hadn’t formally declared war on us, so the fact that they pulled this sneaky surprise attack… heinous was the word we used. America was self righteously appalled. And you know the worst part? I didn’t really know then, but it turns out we could have stopped it. We’d just gotten radar technology-- I assume you know what that is?”

“Yes, Barton was using it to monitor the area we were working out of, and used it to locate your flying stronghold.”

“Well, turns out that America wasn’t very used to it yet. Most of America, at least. Howard Stark-- Tony’s dad, he was the exception. But we picked up the readings that said there was a lot of air traffic, and when the guy manning the radar called it in-- there wasn’t a direct phone, either. But he drove down to the communication station and reported it. And we were so unused to ow it works, he was told that it was just friendlies, a delivery of new planes that was scheduled to go overhead that day. Instead, a lot of people were killed.” 

“So you blame the technology, rather than the men behind it?” Loki knew he was scowling, but he had seen their technology, seen how people treated it very little different from magic in Asgard. It was often the magic blamed for the wielder’s wrong doing, and failing in that it was the sorcerer at fault, and never those he worked for. 

“They weren’t trained, and they didn’t understand it. That’s why I’m working so hard now to catch up, to learn how to use everything available to us. Not understanding things, fearing them, that’s a weakness. I don’t understand you, for example. But I’m working on trying to.”

Loki’s eyes slid over his face and he felt something shifting inside of him, something ugly bubbling towards the surface.   
“Do you fear me, Captain?” 

“Should I?” He returned, calmly and firmly. It sounded more like a no than a question. 

“Why did the man compare me to the tyrant? What did he see in common between us? Our stealth? I would say it was hardly that-- My attack was nothing if not a brazen call for attention.”

“No, no. I got side tracked, I’m sorry. It was the Japanese at Pearl Harbor, but it was a German named Adolf Hitler that he compared you to.” Rogers drew up short and spent a moment scrutinizing his face. “Hitler found a way to justify seeing other people as less than human. Nothing more than animals. Hell, he treated animals better. He killed a lot of people, like they were insects who needed to be exterminated.”  
Ant. Boot. 

It sat uncomfortably in the air between them, and suddenly Loki shivered, realizing that Rogers was playing his own game back at him. Humanizing himself. Not that he really needed to try. 

Loki was just as much an ant as they were, now. He’d never felt more fragile, more afraid for himself, in his life. 

“Your world was not the first, nor the one that I tried hardest to destroy. Here, there would have been lives left. No good ruling a world if there is no one to rule. But before that… before, when Odin finally told me what I was… I tried to destroy every creature like me, every monster. Thor stopped me, then. I assume you stopped your Hitler?” He jerked himself away from the quiet confession, the painful memories. 

“Not me personally, no. I was-- I stopped a different evil. And froze in the process. That cosmic cube that you had, the tesseract, a mad man had it and was trying to use it to conquer our world. Imagine my horror when I woke up and there you were, like a bad dream I just couldn’t escape.” Rogers’s mouth twisted in distaste. “You keep talking like you have to rule somewhere-- that’s what, three worlds you’ve tried to win control of? Why? What made you wake up and decide one day, well yeah. Today I think I’ll betray everyone and just take over.” 

Loki felt a hot wave of anger flow over him, felt himself washed along by it, and he snarled.   
“Don’t presume you know me, Rogers. My gratitude will go only so far. It was I who was betrayed, not they. I am a liar, it is true, but I am loathe to make liars of others. If they say I am a monster, then I will see that it is so.” He nearly spat the words out, and the Captain looked so taken aback by the venom of it that it Loki noticed even through his angry haze. 

“So if I tell you that I don’t think you are a monster, would you stop?”

Loki’s eyes narrowed.   
“If you said as much to me, I would call you a liar. Or a fool. If you meant it, I would say you are ignorant. You know nothing of who I am, only what I have done. You know only the last year of my life in your world, when I have lived for a thousand and more.” He still felt angry, but had calmed enough to remember that he should not chase away the only friend-- or if not that, the only sympathetic ear he had in this place. 

He flattened himself out in his bed.   
“You should go, Captain Rogers. My anger has left me tired. We will resume this talk again soon.”  
Rogers stood to leave, but paused.  
“Tony wants to operate on you soon.”

“I hope he is not so cocky as to think that he is the most qualified of surgeons for this task. His lasers would be received by the uru and reflected back three fold.” 

“Not him personally. He had S.H.I.E.L.D. fly in a specialist.” 

“And this specialist is the best in their field?” Loki asked primly, internally quaking at the thought of how much worse this procedure may make things.

“She is. I promise if anything even starts to look like it’s going wrong, she is going to stop, and we’ll let the magic do its thing. But wouldn’t you rather be healing once and for all, rather than constantly being hurt again?” 

“I suppose the answer to that depends on what will come of me once the healing is done, doesn’t it?” Loki sighed, but nodded just the same. “Bring in your specialist, after I have slept. I would be awake to meet this woman surgeon of yours.” 

Rogers nodded. “I’ll try and be here tomorrow when she gets here. We’re going to do right by you, I promise.” 

Loki just pursed his lips and nodded, and like that Rogers left. He sat alone in his bed for a long time, considering how best to tell his story, wondering if he had the strength to write some of it down, in case the events of the next day should render him incapable.  
He drifted off into a worried sleep for a few hours, and when he woke there was a small stack of books beside his bed. A note perched atop them marked them as gifts from Rogers, and explained that as he did not know what Loki liked, there was a bit of everything. 

Loki lifted the largest tome, dragging it into his lap to crack it open. It was a book of plays, in a vernacular closer to his own peoples’. Or, at least, that of Asgardian playwrites. It would do, for now. 

He spent the evening pushing his worries out of his mind with the comedies and tragedies of idiot humans making poor decisions. And somehow, he felt better for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the veterans who spoke to me about the changes of the face of Nationalism over the years, and about the general public's knowledge about the start of World War II. In the interest of remaining respectful and not attaching their names to what will ultimately end up as slash fic, I will leave them anonymous. However, the insights are truly appreciated.


	3. Three

When he woke the dawn was not yet broken, and The Captain sat beside him in the near-dark, his eyes closed and his face propped on his hand. He slept, albeit lightly, and Loki wondered at that. Was he really so comfortable in his invincibility-- in Loki’s disability-- as to place himself vulnerable beside his foe?

Loki let a wicked small smile curve across his features, and he reached out, stretching just beyond comfort, and landed a solid tap to Rogers’s arm, causing his prop to slip and his head to jerk.

Loki pulled his arm back before Rogers gained full alertness, and he sat staring innocently at him.

“My dear Captain, did you miss me so dearly that you needed be by my side whilst I slept?” His tone dripped like honey from his tongue, though his entire face danced with mocking mirth.

“I said I’d be here before the surgeon was. I didn’t want to wake you though, so I just came here after my run.” His voice ground harshly from his sleep, and he cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?” He inquired politely.

“Nervous about this whole mortality and allowing people at my body with knives business.” Loki all but chirped, trying to be cheerful to hide the admission of his vulnerability.

 

Loki was not truly a morning person, but he had found that he enjoyed playing the part while others struggled with their grogginess.

“Don’t be nervous. We will have every safeguard of modern medicine in place. No one is planning on letting you die on the operating table today, Loki.”

Loki sneered in response. “Of course. We should save that for later, once I have been rewounded for my misdeeds.” He saw Rogers’s face tightening and knew he should veer away from that subject-- at least until he had given the soldier more reason to see his side of things.

“In the event that I do die today-- don’t interrupt-- regardless of what you say it is a possibility, and we both may as well acknowledge that. In the event that it does happen, will you allow me at least to tell you the story of how I discovered that I am… what I am?”

Steve stared for a silent moment, then nodded. “All right. If that’s what’s most important to you… tell me. I promise to listen and remember as much of it as I can.”

“You’ll have heard it. That’s the important thing.” He took a steadying breath and leaned back into his pillows, feeling surrounded by them and trapped there, the padding but an echo of the way his thoughts and memories pressed at the inside of his skull. “It began when we were children-- no. No that isn’t right. All the troubles of those years I wrote off as adolescent angst. I suppose it truly began days before my brother’s coronation ceremony. I knew he wasn’t ready. This was Thor before you knew him. Now mind you, no one loved my brother more than I. I envied him, yes, idolized him. Wanted to be him. But that made me only love him more. I alone of those near him did not coddle him though, and I saw his faults plainly. He was vain. Proud. Self righteous and bigoted, unable to keep a clear head. Fast to anger and faster still to taunt those lesser than himself. Placing a crown atop so unstable a base would have caused Asgard’s downfall, and I couldn’t let that happen. I tried speaking to My mother and f-- to Odin. My concerns were chased away by a gesture and a clear dismissal. Shouldn’t I be burying my nose in those books of magic, rather than bothering myself in affairs of the kingdom? And in that moment, though I had felt a creeping knowledge of it all of my young life, I knew that who I was would mean that I was never to have the throne. Who I was then being only the second son, the weak, dark one-- Thor’s shadow, they called me often. One of the nicer names they called me.”  He shrugged. “No matter. I knew it would be best if they could put it on hold. I meant only to create a minor disturbance, to cause Thor to lash out, that Odin might see his shortcomings for himself. I hardly thought-- but I get ahead of myself. As children we were told stories of great monsters from a world not too far from our own, the Frost Giants of Jotunheim. Long ago they were one of the more powerful races, conquering worlds and leaving naught but eternal winters in their past. It was this foe that Odin vanquished, around the time when Thor and I were born. They were the last great evil that he had to crush before the time of peace that was all that we two brother knew had begun. And so in trying to find something for Thor to over react to, my thoughts went to them, and I knew it was perfect.”

 

He paused, waiting to see if Rogers would call forth the fact that he’d told him he was a Frost Giant, when he had been ill. But Rogers seemed more interested in listening than interrupting-- slightly disconcerting. He was used to having to fight to be heard. He tried to recover his narrative.

“As I said, I was raised as a Prince of Asgard; I was always taught that our people came first. I would not endanger them. And so I would not merely throw open our doors for an invasion-- I turned to my books and bypassed the guardians of my realm, slipping out through a hidden door and onto the snow plains of Jotunheim. There, I found a small hunting party, and took aside their leader. I wove them tales of the riches and treasures of Asgard, and garnished this with the prize they most desired-- the Casket of Ancient Winters. The treasure that gave the Jotnar the power to freeze over any land they wished. It would have allowed them to rebuild their once proud home. Of course, I never intended to give it to them. That would have put Asgard at too great a risk. But I told them how to get to it, and used my magic to unmask the door to those very few at just the right moment. As the ceremony drew to its apex, the warning sounded. They’d been stopped by the Destroyer, Odin’s most powerful defense, which was housed in the treasury. The Frost Giants were destroyed. The ceremony was interrupted. Thor began ranting about how he wanted to seize this excuse to destroy them all. Every. Monstrous. One.” His last words fell bitterly from his lips, and Rogers’s eyes widened, realizing what that meant now, what Loki himself had not yet known then.

“That should have been the end of it. Father and son quarreled, too alike to not, and the moment was ruined. But I thought to push my advantage. I goaded Thor into defying Odin. He and his friends and I were to go to Jotunheim ourselves, though I do not know what he truly hoped to accomplish when our numbers were so few, and we were charging blindly against our foes. I alerted the guards-- we should never have made it there. But we did. Thor’s actions-- our actions-- started a war between our peoples. And a friend of-- one of Thor’s friends, was grievously injured. Funny thing though; when he was touched by the frost giants, his skin blackened and froze. When I suffered the same fate, my skin changed in tone to match theirs, and came away unharmed. Thor was banished to Midgard-- your Earth-- for what he had done. I should have spoken for him. But I had other things on my mind.”

He found himself unwittingly caressing that wrist, distracted momentarily by the band of plastic that he found there.

“What is this?” He held the hand up for Rogers to see, followed the path of blue eyes in the morning dark as they turned their attention away from his face.

“It’s an identifying bracelet. Lets any doctor who comes in know who you are-- as if they didn’t know already. Not that you’ll be getting anyone in here who isn’t cleared by S.H.I.E.L.D. You’re the highest security person in here right now, and that bracelet lets everyone know.”

“Tells them how dangerous I am, you mean to say.” He snorted.

“Loki, you haven’t got your powers. You can barely move. It’s more to keep angry New Yorkers from barging in here and tearing you to shreds, if they found out we had you here.”

“So I am in New York still. That is good to know, I suppose.” He frowned, not fond of being reminded of his weakened state.

“Good luck trying to get out of here, either, bracelet or no. Like I said, you are under the highest level of security protection. But never mind that. What happened? With your arm?”

“That…” He looked down again and shook his head before returning to his story. “I knew, so soon after our disobedience, that any request I made for counsel with Odin would be denied. So I took a chance and went by myself to the treasury. It wouldn’t be the first time I have walked among the artifacts of Odin’s victories. But this time… this time I was interested only in one of them. The Casket. His alarms brought him down just as my hands closed around it, and when I turned to face him, the world was tinged with darkness, as my natural eyes took over. You see, Jotnar, they do not look like you or the Aesir. They are, in point of fact, beasts. Blue skin with deeper blue relation lines. You can trace their parentage along their hides, as if mapping them for breeding. For all I know, that is what they do. And their eyes are the scarlet of freshly fallen blood on snow.”

“It would make it easier to achieve spacial awareness on bright white surroundings, I imagine.” Rogers said, calmly accepting what Loki told him.

“It’s hideous.” Loki spat back. “Mine faded the moment the casket was released, though. And I confronted Odin about my origins. The King of the Jotuns, whom Thor so offended, the same giant who had ordered first our deaths and then war, was my father. I was cast out to die, too small to live. Odin found me and stole me away, intending to use me as a pawn, a bargaining chip… something. I cannot pretend, even now, to know his mind, save that he knew I was Laufey’s son. Royal, albeit the royal runt. And then it all fell into place. Why, though I had been raised as a Prince, I had never truly had the chance. You must understand--all that I had been reared for was the throne, and then I was told it had never been within reach. When other children ran amok, carefree and allowed to be young, I willingly resigned myself to hours of lessons-- lessons that left me weak, mocked, embarrassed in front of my betters. I hated it, but I was told that I might learn the necessary humility to balance the honor of the crown. So I bowed under their scorn, was stoic, and I learned. I learned everything that was set before me.

You yourself were once weak, so weak as to be unable to keep up with those around you. So was I. I was never gifted with a serum to make the physical easier, though. I trained in secret, late at night when the others from my lessons collapsed from exhaustion. I cannot count the times I cried in frustration after hurting myself, pushing myself further than I should, denying myself basic pleasures in the understanding that what I would have at the end was a control over myself, a control over a kingdom, when I was ready. I was supposed to be made as strong, as perfect as I could be. Wise, kind, eloquent, strategically brilliant, well written, well read, dignified, diplomatic… in a word, I was made to be regal, forced into the form of a king to be.”

he was ranting now, he knew it, could hear his machines registering their alarm. He sat back, calmed himself, but continued.

“And then I was told that though I had conformed, that I fit now into their mold as perfectly as I could manage, I would never amount to more than the monstrous barbarians that I was stolen from. That death was what I had been given as a child, and that death was all that was owed to me. Only that. Not truth. Not the love of my fostering, not even the respect for my hurt when I understood what had been done. Death.” He laughed sharply, then choked on the sound.

Rogers tried to hand him the water glass, but he waved it off, his hands shaking too badly to hold it and his pride yet too intact to ask the Captain to raise it for him.

 

“And even if I had wanted to go back from whence I’d come, they’d made sure that I couldn’t. I would never be comfortable there-- that was all that their schooling had achieved, was to place me firmly in the neither here nor there. So all those humilities I learned were not balanced with gain… instead they turned out to be years of built up humiliations, leading only to this. And at every turn, I was found wanting, when in truth I followed the rule set to me by the letter. I was everything they asked me to be, while Thor-- ever my opposite, ever the disappointment-- was celebrated. Coronated.” He was bitter, the wounds still fresh, still deep, despite all that had happened.

“I did not ask to be saved, nor lied to. I did not ask to give my entire life to their pretense. And when I could not accept it, I was ungrateful. Unworthy. Unwanted. Someone’s pawn, do you understand? I was nothing more than… than a performing animal for some greater power. And I was trapped.”

“There are other ways to escape than to… to try and destroy all those people who took you in, shared their homes--”

“Yes. There are. Odin fell into his Sleep, a state that links him to the land of Asgard. They feed from one another, the energies flowing back and forth in a cycle. And that was why the ceremony had been held so early into Thor’s manhood. Odin could wait no longer. And with Thor banished and my Mother-- and Frigga refusing to leave her husband’s side, the throne fell to me. Mere moments after being told I should never have it, it fell into my lap. And so I did what any in my position would. I made sure it would remain that way. I sent the destroyer to put an end to Thor. With no other in line, I would be Odin’s sole heir. And oh, how it would wound him to see his enemy’s son seated on his throne. But I had to make sure he would not tell anyone. I made sure that the secrets of my past would be firmly buried. I invited Laufey to come and kill Odin, but slew him instead, ensuring that Odin owed his life to me-- and securing my spot as his next in command. Then I took Gungnir and locked the Bifrost’s beam open upon the frozen wastelands from whence I’d been plucked, and I unleashed its power, tied even then to Odin’s own, set to destroying everything that it touched. If it were up to me, Jotunheim and every monster and secret on it would have perished that day.”

“That’s-- I take it that didn’t work out?” Rogers was fighting to keep the emotion out of his voice, but Loki could see it plainly on his face. Dismay. Horror. It felt like a victory in its own right.

“Thor returned and stopped it. Stopped me. Destroyed the link between worlds. Odin woke and I saw my plans failing, saw everything I had worked for crumbling. I thought I was letting myself fall to my death, and I welcomed it. But instead… I fell through many worlds. I thought I would find Death, but instead I found… The Other. he brought me to his Master, and together, they promised me revenge, glory, my future restored, better, brighter. They promised me anything I ever wanted. And I wanted my own world, then. I thought it only my right. You know what happened then, your battle of New York. They gave me the means, but I was to give them something in return. I thought to gain the article they so craved by ransoming your little planet for it. Thor was so besotted with it after his exile, after all. And Thanos only wanted one of Odin’s trinkets… I thought there would be no question where Thor’s loyalties would lie. But that failed, of course, thanks to yourself and your team.”

“But… what happened after we sent you back? Wh--” Rogers cut himself off when Loki raised an imperious hand for silence.

“A story for another time, it seems. I believe your surgeon is here.” He nodded at the door where Stark stood beside a striking woman with burnished brown curls.

 

“Dr. Qureshi, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The good Captain was on his feet almost before Loki had finished speaking, all but bounding across the room to offer her his hand. Loki wondered if it was a fear of being seen as rude, or if he was more afraid to be seen having intimate discussions with their captive.

“You are Steve Rogers.” She said, inclining her hand while she shook his, and Loki noticed that her accent was mitigated by her careful enunciation. Not native to this tongue, he thought, and wondered where on Midgard they had summoned her from.

“Baiza here is the absolute best trauma surgeon available, and she specialized in handling alien technologies and substances. I’d like you to explain to her as plainly as you can the specific properties of the metal shard inside of you.” Stark was already taking control, though his showiness was subdued, perhaps because of the last time they had met, or perhaps in deference to this Dr. Qureshi’s presence.

 

Loki elected to ignore him as much as possible, and so instead turned his face to Dr. Qureshi.

“The metal is called Uru. It absorbs energies directed at it and, without guidance, releases them threefold. What lays within me is but a shard, as Stark said, and as such cannot be wielded. The challenge in this is that this is not limited to magical energies-- I am healing now because it works with the trace remains of my healing gift, but if you were to take a laser to me, and it should glance the metal, that laser would be reflected from it at three fold power. And neither you nor I can aim it. Likewise, if you strike it with a blade, it will strike back with the same force. So your utmost care will be required-- and your utmost gentleness. Once it has been removed, until I am able again to speak, place it in a glass bowl with a lid. It has been known to erode other metals. And whatever you do…” He flicked his eyes away from the woman and to meet Rogers’s, instead, “Do not allow Stark or Banner or any other Midgardian scientist to experiment upon it. You’ve no idea the havoc it may wreak.”

He knew that he could not truly expect that order would be obeyed, but he had to hope that Rogers at the very least would realize that if it was Loki warning them of danger, the warning ought to be heeded.

“Is there chance of it eroding the scalpels that I operate on you with? They would be of stainless steel.” She was sharp and he immediately appreciated her forethought.

“If they touch it but briefly, the corrosion will be minimal, but there just the same. If you can make quick work of it, it will do no harm, but as this is delicate I would assume you need time. If you have any non metal options, I would ask that you take them, or be prepared to treat infections borne by rust in the wound.”

“Tony, will you see what S.H.I.E.L.D. has in the way of ceramic or diamond scalpels, or if they can get them, I prefer obsidian.”

“Yeah, I’ll get people on it right away.” He turned and left, clearly glad that Captain America was still there, lest he have to leave Dr. Qureshi alone with Loki.

“One further thing.” Loki cautioned. “You will want to have eye protection at hand. If the Uru registers your intrusion as an attack, it will respond by emitting a bright flash-- usually it is for fighting, to blind and confuse foes, but in this case… I would rather your hand not slip.” He grimaced, and she nodded and tapped the dark lensed glasses that were currently holding back her hair.

“Have you eaten recently? Had fluids?”

“I am not sure what you have worked on in the past, but you should know that in my true form I am a Frost Giant. I was bound, my lips sewn shut for a year, and during that time I could not eat. And now…” He carefully kept his eyes aimed away from where Rogers stood, looking on. “I have had very little to eat since my mouth has been unsewn. It is… difficult. My appetite has not returned, and even having but a few spoonfuls makes me feel ill.” He could hear Rogers shifting, btu refused to look at him, and hastened to try and make it better. “Fluids, though, I have taken in aplenty. Much water, each day, and tea as often as I can request it-- usually five cups in a day. With honey.”

 

Dr. Qureshi made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat.

“I will speak to the staff about your diet. It is not uncommon for those who have not eaten much or often to find hardship in resuming, but we must see to it that you are getting the nutrients you need.”

“He’s been on a drip feed.” The Captain spoke up, not sounding defensive, but instead sorry about it.

“He will need real food to regain his strength, especially once we're done.” She insisted, and Rogers nodded his agreement.

“Provided I live.” Loki said archly, refusing to allow the words to hang in the air.

“Look at me, Loki.” She commanded, and Loki did, flinching when she bent to meet his eyes at his own level. “I do not know you, only what I have heard of you. I do not know why you have done what you did. But I do know that Tony Stark and Steve Rogers and S.H.I.E.L.D. would not be asking me to operate on you if they did not think there was something within you worth saving. And so if there is anything I can do, you may be certain you will not die beneath my blade. Now.” She stood and began tugging her wild hair back into a knot behind her head.

“I am going to go oversee the preparations for the operating room. Captain, will you see me to the office here? I will need access to all of his files before I begin. And Loki? No more tea. If all is in order, I will be back for you as soon as I can be.”

He gulped, affected again by the kindly commanding tone as well as at the prospect of being cut open within the day.

“Yes, Doctor. Thank you.” He said, forcing the sincerest gratitude he could muster through his fear into his voice. She must have heard it, because she nodded perfunctorily before she left.

Captain Rogers lingered for just a moment.

“I’m sorry I woke you. Try and rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Loki lay for a while refusing to ponder his own mortality and instead puzzling at the concern in Rogers’s voice and Dr. Qureshi’s words.

What was it that they saw worth saving in him? Was he intended to be a bargaining tool-- a gift to be wrapped up and returned to Asgard, good as new? He shuddered at the thought. And if so-- Odin had said he would kill him if he was seen in Asgard again. Was all of this for nothing? Or did they intend to keep him here, but visible, on display? When he did slip off to sleep, he dreamt of himself in a glass box, the words ‘Behold our Mercy’ emblazoned on a banner over his head, as the daily scum of the Midgardian streets strolled past, jeering and snapping photos on their cell phones.

 

He was almost relieved to be awakened to hear Stark say the words, “They’re ready for him now. Is he good to go?”

Not addressed to him, though, but instead to the man at his side. While he slept, Rogers had returned to his seat. But now he was standing, and Loki looked up, his groggy state and bleary eyes again seeing a halo of light caused by the hospital’s ceiling fixtures shining through the good Captain’s hair.

“Loki? Are you ready for us to move you?”

“The cords--” He started, but just moving his arms he could tell they’d been undone. He didn’t feel so much like a puppet now.

“A nurse came in and took them out while you slept. If you’re ready, we need to wheel you down the hall to the operating room. Okay?”

Loki stared at him, uncomprehending, then nodded. Rogers looked up at the door and motioned Stark inside, and he came-- flanked by a dozen guards.

Loki had been in a place like this before, moving through a hallway, all eyes on him, surrounded by armed men. Though then he’d been smiling, cocky, so sure that victory was within his grasp. Now he couldn’t even stand, was hardly more than a wraith, the jutting angles of his bones visible through even the loose hospital gown. He raised his chin high and pointed his eyes forward, refusing to cow under the pressure of their scorn, their pity, their self righteous derision.

And finally, he was pushed into a room. Dr. Qureshi was there, flanked by two large men in medical scrubs, all of them with face masks and paper hats and rubber gloves on.

“These are Dmitri Yosef and Chad Simmons. They’re going to be assisting me today, alright?”

As if he had a choice. Still, he nodded, his mouth gone dry and his tongue sticking to the roof of it.

“Dmitri, Chad, please move Loki to the operating bed, and Steve, if you could wheel this bed out and you and your men remain outside for the duration of the procedure?” Loki wondered distantly what conversations the two of them had had together to move from ‘Rogers’ to ‘Steve’ but it registered only distantly.

 

The Captain nodded and Loki turned his head to see his hands gripping hard to the bed’s sides-- stopping it from rolling, he realized. The assistants came and lifted him together as if he was nothing more than a child’s toy, and when his temporary dizziness faded, he could see the Captain’s back, the other men already stationed outside the door. Which left the Doctor, the assistants… and Stark.

“You too, Tony. This is going to be delicate enough, I don’t need you and your nervous energy throwing me off in the middle of it.” Qureshi was calm, but stern. She left no room for questions. That didn’t mean Stark wouldn’t try.

“But--” he stepped forward, and in that moment Loki could read between them some of their shared history. At least one night of intimacy, followed by regret which had been dampened by shared respect. They were both smart and good at what they did. They had remained friends. And they would never again be anything more. Qureshi would see to that-- because while Stark’s body language oozed openness, comfort and interest in closeness, the moment he came near, she stiffened and threw back her shoulders, raised her chin. She challenged him first with her body and then with her words-- but always, it seemed, with her mind.

“You are not a doctor-- not a medical doctor. You are no kind of caregiver. And you are not needed here. I’ll call for you if anything goes wrong, I promise. But until then, Tony, please. I need you to leave.”

Stark took a deep breath, looked back and forth between the assistants, who, Loki was amused to note, had politely turned their backs to the room and were fiddling with instruments, pretending not to be able to hear. Finally, Stark’s eyes met Loki’s own, and they narrowed in distrust, before he pressed his lips together and nodded, jerkily, once.

“You know where the panic buttons are. One tap, and the entire building will be here.” The words were meant to be reassuring, Loki was sure, but they sounded more like they were for Stark himself than anyone else.

He turned on his heel and was gone, the door closing behind him with some finality.

Dr. Qureshi let out her breath and shook her head.

“Now then. I’m going to have Dmitri and Chad hook you up to some sensors, not unlike those in your room. This is just to monitor all of your life signs while we work. While they do that, I am going to ask you to breathe in the air we pump through this tube-- okay?” She held up a cup shaped mask, which had an elastic string around it for securing to his face. He flashed back to the muzzle he’d been placed in for his return to Asgard, but nodded just the same.

As the assistants worked surely and silently around him, the Doctor pressed it over his lips, and he breathed deep.

“Smells strange.” He mused. “Why…” He trailed off, beginning to be affected. He felt himself drifting, and his eyes flew open. “You’re sending me to sleep? You’re-- no!” He recalled the treatment he fell to at the hands of the Chitauri. How they would send him to sleep between tortures, so they would not have to deal with him. How he would wake up and be worse off than when he had been before. He thrashed as much as he was able, and he saw her look of surprise, followed by a glance upwards and behind his bed that brought the men to descend upon him and hold him to the bed.

“Loki I need you still for this and the best way to do that is to induce sleep. I need you to calm down now and count with me. Are you ready? One… Two…”

“Don’t, don’t--” He could hear his voice weakening and beginning to drift further and further away, though the panic did not diminish. “Damn you.” He whispered, his vision narrowing to thin cracks of wavering light, and then--

  
  


He awoke in his own room again, or the room he had been in thus far, in a comfortable sort of haze like the one he’d spent his first days here in.

It was too warm again, and he struggled to remove the blankets, stopping suddenly when he realized he should be careful of his side, before realizing there was only a constant sort of throbbing pain, and none of the sharp pangs. He thrashed his way out of the cotton covers and felt at his side. It was bandaged, and it seemed that they had been changed at least once while he was unconscious, for there was residue from the tape left around the edges, where this application did not cover.

He felt for the tubes in his arms and found that they were there, though they had been whittled down to two-- presumably because he would be expected to actually eat for sustenance from now on.

He was alone, too, which was a small blessing. He didn’t yet have control of himself, too overcome with trying to tell what all had changed. His paranoia was in full effect after his forced loss of consciousness, but he saw that the Doctor had done as he’d asked, and the tip of Gungnir had been placed in a glass container on the table beside his bed. He reached for it, grateful and hoping against hope that it would do what he needed of it, now that he could hold it in his own two hands, rather than having it lodged in his gut.

 

His reach fell just short though, and his hand was still outstretched and wobbling when Rogers entered the room.

He drew up short, the books clutched under his arm jostled to be held up before him-- too reliant on that shield of his, it was clearly an automatic reaction to potential danger.

“Uh, Loki?” He asked, and Loki rolled his eyes and relaxed back into bed.

“Good, you’re here. Hand me that.” He gestured with his chin, glad to have his range of motion back.

“What are you going to do with it?” He asked, approaching cautiously and setting the books beside the jar on the table.

“It was drawing on the dregs of seidr to heal me when it was within me. If it could do that innately, then perhaps it could do better if I used it intentionally. I thought it worth a try, at least.” He shrugged and held his hand out, waiting patiently, he thought, for the instrument that would end his suffering to be handed over.

“How do I know that you won’t use it for something else? You said it increased power threefold-- that would be enough to do something destructive, wouldn’t it?” Rogers sounded suspicious, and Loki could tell that much of the time he had spent asleep, the Captain had spent in the company of Stark.

“My dear Captain,” he began, impatient. “I have made my mistakes, and I have paid for them. Over and over again, through more lifetimes than your meager mortal mind can comprehend. I’m not about to make another. What else do I have to lose? My life? I’m hardly willing to part ways with it. Besides.” He glanced down his body, his knees little more than skin draped over joints and bone. “Even if I managed to blow the wall of the building off, I would have no energy left to lift myself from the bed, much less escape. I would be unsurprised to find that just the little healing I may be able to do will push me unconscious for at least a day.”

“I thought you said we shouldn’t be using the Uru.” Rogers was still accusatory, or perhaps Loki’s words had stung him a bit. Still, he could see that the other man was at least considering it. His hand rested on the lid of the jar.

“So I did. And you shouldn’t. I trained for years in how to use it. I know that there are two alternatives for what will happen when I take it in hand-- either I will heal, or it will turn out that I have too little magic left, in which case nothing will happen. Your people are so blind to magic, have so resolutely ground it down to nonexistence, that who knows what unknown abilities may be unleashed from an untrained touch? No. Better that, once I have done what I can, it is returned to its home realm, where there are those who know how to safely dispose of it. Besides.” He made a face. “I am sure Odin has been mourning the waste of his best weapon on a wretch like me. You may curry favor with him by presenting the tip, that it may be repaired.”

“You want me, _me_ specifically, to go to Asgard just to bring back the broken off tip of the spear? And how would I even get there?” Now the captain sounded nothing but incredulous. A good transition for Loki-- it brought him closer to achieving his goal.

“You would call to the gatekeeper. Heimdall, who guards the Bifrost. Shout his name, tell him who you are and why you request access to Asgard. It should be enough. And while you are there-- verify my story with Thor. Ask him how it is I came to be as I was when you found me. He was knows the end of it, and any that he leaves untold, I will explain to you. No doubt your superiors will want you to offer me back to them, but please-- ask Thor for my story first. Know all that you can, before you condemn me to their care.”

“You know how crazy this sounds, how dangerous this could potentially be for me, don’t you?” The Captain pressed on, but Loki could see that his resolve was all but gone, now.

“A short while ago, yes, it would have been both dangerous and crazy. Now though… now it is neither. Then, I would have given anything to rule, but now…” Loki trailed off, not sure how he could convince Rogers that he meant what he said.

“But now? Are you… have you given up? Are you done chasing a throne?”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, and though his twisted little half smile lit his lips, his heart was clearly not in it.

“Ay. No... No, Ay.  For I must nothing be. Your Shakespeare, your Richard the second-- I’ve found some solace in this shared deposition. It’s true-- Without a purpose, without a rank and a role to play, I don’t know who I am. I know no I.  I have tried being all too good, and then all too evil. If you are to uncrown me the villain as Odin has uncrowned me the prince, then who is Loki left to be?”

“That isn’t much of an answer.” Rogers observed wryly.

“It is. I am done. I aspire only to be granted my mortal days here, rather than at the hands of those who would break me again and again, for sport and in retribution. No matter what your human punishments bring upon me, I am sure it will not be worse the fate I have suffered at hands more dear to me.”

Captain America stared at Loki, and Loki stared back at him for a long minute of thought.

“I’m trusting you, Loki. This one time. Don’t make me regret it, because you won’t get a chance to regret it.” He was grave, and his voice swelled with the firmness of threat.

“Thank you.” Loki whispered, and the jar was offered to him, the lid removed. He reached inside of it, his fingers brushing the hot metal and then closing around it.

  
A blinding light flared, a sound like a howling wind ripped through the air, and in the midst of the rush, someone cried out. When the light faded, Rogers had stumbled backwards to press his back to the wall. Loki saw, through hazy red vision, the fear writ plainly on the Captain’s face. The shard of Uru cluttered from his hand to the floor, and his eyes rolled backwards, his head lolled on his neck, and he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, the title of the story, I know no I, and in fact the whole of the story, was inspired by Shakespeare's Richard II.   
> And oh would you look at that?  
> Here's Tom Hiddleston quoting from it in a Jaguar ad! (true though the lines belong to John of Gaunt, and not Richard... close. So close.)  
> http://youtu.be/ZFqaFu2maDg


	4. Four

“Heimdall! I am Steven Rogers, of Midgard, and I bear the recovered shard of Gungnir for Odin!”   
He stood where they had seen off Thor and Loki after the battle of New York. It was early morning, three thirty tops, and no one was out to see him. But he still felt like an idiot. 

He’d spent the last several hours on Skype with Eric Selvig, learning how to pronounce the words that had rolled so easily off of Loki’s tongue.   
He was about to give up and walk away, believe that Loki had tricked him, maybe just to embarrass him, when he felt a lurching feeling. It was like falling, but in reverse, like being sucked up, but also like being pulled. It was a vibration at the back of his eyes and in his sinuses, a clenching in his chest and stomach and a wobbling in his limbs… and his eyes were swimming through a kaleidoscope that put the ones he’d looked through as a kid to absolute shame. 

He landed with a jolt and straightened quickly, unsure of his reception. There was a very tall, very powerful looking man, resplendent all in golden armor and wearing a helmet that looked as lethal as it was highly decorative. 

“Steven Rogers, Welcome to Asgard. Thor comes to meet you, and take you to our King.” 

Steve realized he was staring, and had to stop himself from bowing or saluting. He wasn’t sure how either gesture would be received on as alien of a world as this was. Instead, he nodded.   
“Thank you, Heimdall.” 

He moved hesitantly towards the door, but without turning, Heimdall stopped him.   
“Steven. I know Loki sent you. If you bring his treachery with you into Asgard along with its missing blade, I will be most cross.” His voice was light and airy, but the sound of it was as final as a door thudding shut. 

Steve nodded.   
“I’ll take it under advisement. But I promise, I’m here to see Thor, learn more of Loki’s crimes, and see to it that the Uru is returned. That’s it.” 

“Go, then, with my blessing. But remember my words.” Steve wondered what manner of creature he was, to have come into possession of a voice that rumbled like… well like Thor’s thunder. 

He didn’t say anything else, but stepped out of the golden dome he’d landed in, and into the open air of Asgard, on the rainbow bridge that led into the heart of a great and beautiful city that all but glowed. 

“Well Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more.” He muttered. 

“MY FRIEND!” Thor bellowed as he strode forward, cape floating out majestically behind him. Suddenly, in this context, Thor seemed to fit perfectly. 

“Thor!” Steve called his greeting and hurried forward to meet him, clasping the offered hand before being pulled in for a hug. They parted and he was thumped solidly on the shoulder while he was guided deeper into Asgard. 

“What brings you here, my friend?” Thor asked, and though he still sounded cheerful, there seemed to be a note of caution to it. 

“We found Loki, when he was dropped on Earth,” he began, but paused when Thor withdrew his hand and pulled up short. 

“If S.H.I.E.L.D. is offended by our decision, I apologize. It was not hastily made, and we judged him to be of no further threat, or we would not have placed him within reach of your people.” Suddenly he was very grave, and Steve was confused-- the man he’d known, even in the middle of battles, was cheerful and even funny. This was so far from that…

“That’s not it-- though a heads up would have been nice.” He kept the reproach as light as he could, unsure how to deal with this new, more sober Thor. “I came to bring back this.” He lifted the jar to show Thor the shining metal at the base of it, “And to ask you, if you will let me, a little about Loki’s crimes. We need to know, before we can pass a fair judgement on him.” 

Thor nodded and held his hands out.   
“May I?” He requested, and Steve handed the jar over without question. 

“He said it was the tip of Gungnir, and that such a metal should not be allowed to stay on Midgard. He didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.” Thor’s face jerked up from where he’d been studying the broken blade, and he was suddenly scrutinizing Steve’s face closely. Truth be told, he didn’t know why he was trying to paint Loki in a good light, except to try and be fair, he supposed.   
It was hard, too, looking at Thor, so serious and reserved, and remembering the things Loki had said he’d suffered at this man’s hands. This man, who Steve counted as a friend.

“He said?” Thor asked. “Were his lips not bound when you found him?” 

Steve mentally slapped his forehead. He hadn’t forgotten-- who could forget something like that? But… he hadn’t been as mindful of his words as he should have. 

“They were. I removed the stitches to learn from him why he was back on Midgard.” 

At that, Thor’s eyes lit up and his mouth slanted upwards. 

“I should have known, my friend. Of course you, of all men, would be able. Father would no doubt wish to meet you on that basis alone, even were you not my brother in arms. Come! You must return to him this piece of Asgardian treasure.” 

Steve didn’t know why, but he hadn’t really counted on being granted an audience with the King of Asgard himself. It was fine, he supposed. He’d played foreign dignitary a few times by now, and had been trained thoroughly in the etiquette of foreign countries. He had no idea how to handle foreign planets, but he figured he could probably wing it.   
He hadn’t counted on how imposing a figure Odin would cut, though he probably should have, considering how just the gatekeeper had him quaking in his boots a bit.

“Father-- Your Majesty, I present to you Captain Steven Rogers of The Avengers of Midgard, a shield brother and good man.” Thor said, not entirely formal, though he did at least sound happy about it. 

“And what brings you to Asgard, Steven Rogers?” Odin asked, the wry amusement somehow more threatening than Heimdall’s ground shuddering rumble had been. 

“I come to return this shard of Uru to its rightful place.” He said, bowing his head and offering up the jar. He wasn’t sure how low to bow, exactly, but he did know that by refusing to take a knee, he was refusing to make himself a servant to this man. King. God. 

Odin reached out and plucked the class jar from Steve’s hands, and he straightened up. 

“And how did you come to find your way here, Steven?” Odin inquired, not facing him while he lifted the shard from its glass housing and turned it in his fingers. 

“Loki told me that if I were to call to Heimdall and explain my reasons, I should be allowed through the Bifrost.” He answered honestly, well aware that the next question that came would be about the stitches. Fortunately, Thor got there before Odin could ask. 

“Steve was able to undo the knots to learn of Loki’s banishment.” Thor seemed excited about this, and Steve wasn’t sure entirely why. It must have shown. 

“Did Loki tell you why it was that no one else could remove the stitching?” Odin asked, sounding for all the world like he knew something Steve didn’t and was overwhelmingly smug about it. 

“He didn’t, no.” Steve responded cautiously. “When asked he gestured that he didn’t know how to remove them.” 

“He lied.” Odin proclaimed in clipped syllables. “The spell placed on them was such that only a good man, worthy and able to pass my tests, would be able to break those bonds. It seems you are one such man, Captain Rogers. Which leads me to wonder why it is that Loki sent you here.” He could feel the man’s single eye burning with suspicion as it studied his face. 

“He said the Uru was not safe on my world, and he wanted me to ask Thor, I think, about why he was banished. He’s told me some of the story, but I have a hard time believing him. I think he wanted to prove to me that he was telling the truth.” 

Odin sat back on his throne, silent, and stroked his beard thoughtfully.

At length, he spoke again. 

“Tonight we shall hold a feast in your honor, for returning the tip of the blade of Gungnir, favored weapon of the throne of Asgard, and also for your effectively passing my test. You are one of Thor’s shield brothers, and Asgard is open to you. Before and after the feast, you and Thor may discuss Loki until your attentions are satisfied, on the condition that you see to it his suffering matches his crimes.” Odin did not seem to expect an argument, and sounded more like he was giving Steve permission to torture Loki, as if he was doing him some sort of favor. It made him feel queasy. 

“I promise to treat Loki to justice.” Steve said, choosing his words very carefully. 

Odin inclined his head, clearly a dismissal, and Thor took his arm to lead him out a side door, and into the palace beyond. 

Steve let out his breath noisily, and Thor clapped a large hand on his shoulder blade.   
“I think he likes you.” He informed Steve, and where in the past such a statement would be coupled with laughter, this new Thor was grim and more reserved. Steve smiled shakily and wondered what would have happened if Odin hadn’t.   
He decided it was better that he didn’t ask.

“Where are we headed now?” He asked, and Thor gestured to an ornate double door. 

“My rooms. We will call for ale, and begin our talks about the future of Loki, the traitor.” He pushed them open and Steve followed him in, absolutely aware of how, even when Loki had been invading Earth with an arm of aliens, killing indiscriminately, Thor had always called Loki his brother. Whatever Loki had done, it had changed that. Somehow, knowing that Loki was responsible for his actions, knowing that whatever he did was really that serious, made Steve feel a little better about the state he’d found him in.

Once they were settled, flagons and a meat platter spread out between them, Thor leaned back in his seat, his hand resting loosely around his own mug.   
“What is it you want to know, Captain Rogers?” 

“I suppose…” Steve said, as he sat his own glass down, “Starting from when we saw him last, what happened? After the battle of New York, you brought him back to Asgard. Then what?” 

“He was imprisoned. In deference to my mother’s wishes, my father merely locked him away, though he was kept in a well gilded cage, with as many comforts as befitted a Prince of Asgard. Only none of the freedoms. Mother always did dote upon him.” Thor’s mouth twisted a little bitterly.   
“He remained there until the Dark Elves attacked. In the pursuit of their weapon, their leader had my mother killed. And in the blindness of his grief, my father’s plans thought only of revenge, not of the lives that Asgard stood to lose by taking such a path. I knew I must transport the weapon-- then housed in the body of Jane Foster-- off planet. But my father had also closed off my access to the Bifrost. The only way to bring Asgard safety was to release Loki and make him take us on his secret roads between worlds. And the only way to ensure his cooperation was to place my faith in the shared grief of our loss.”

“I’m sorry about your mother; I had no idea.” Steve murmured, unsure how to respond. 

“It is alright,Steven. Then, I was too distracted with thoughts of revenge. After-- when I believed my brother dead-- I mourned for them both. It is the last time I will mourn Loki.” There was a twinge of foreboding in his voice.

“He faked his death?” Steve asked, confused at this point. Why bother, if he was already free? Why not just run off, disappear? Was he afraid Thor would chase him?

“He did. In saving my life, he gave the appearance of having been stabbed through. Perhaps he was, it matters not. He put on a show of death, and I was forced to leave him there. At the time, I felt guilty for being unable to give him proper burial rites. Now, I wish I had, if only because it would mean I had seen the last of him on the plains of Svartalfheim.”

“Why would he fake his own death, though?” Steve pressed on. He knew the things Loki did always seemed to have a purpose behind them, whether or not you necessarily knew it at the time. 

“To escape his punishment, I suppose. If we thought him dead, we would not be able to keep him in a cell.” 

“You think that’s it?” He was baffled. That seemed petty, especially for someone who had five thousand years of life to live, and who could walk between the worlds like it took no more effort than going for a stroll. 

“He disguised his face, locked my father in a box with a dangerous criminal, and then donned a disguise and ruled Asgard in his place. So perhaps Loki knew even then what he planned to do. Though it is difficult-- without him telling us, we cannot truly know when he removed Odin and replaced him. My Father spent so long in his box beside The Serpent, it is… difficult. For him to tell us aught of time passed.” 

Steve could only stare, trying to imagine what Loki as a King would be like.   
“So he did manage to get what he wanted, sort of. Did that satisfy him? What.. how did he act, as King?”

“Recall that none knew who he was, for he wore the face of Odin, and as such he needed to act on par with Odin’s norm. He was on edge though, no doubt awaiting discovery.” Thor stopped to lift his cup to his lips, then paused with it in midair. “I realize now that he must have divined who would find him out, perhaps by means of scrying or some magical artifact. At any rate, he knew that he needed to gain control over Amora, the Enchantress. He sent Sif to Midgard to collect her sister, Lorelei. And once he had the younger as his prisoner, he attempted to use that to force Amora’s hand in aiding him. Amora went on her quest, I know not whence to this day, and she will not tell. But when she returned it was burning with righteous wrath. She had seen through him from afar, and told me where I might find my true father. I thought it to be a trap, but followed her all the same, yet lo, there he was. We returned him to the throne, and expelled Loki from the city, banished and told never to return, on pain of death. And then it was quiet, for a time.”

Steve frowned, his eyes gazing off somewhere else while he thought.   
“Does Odin have some sort of assistant? Someone who would have known what Loki was doing while he was on the throne?” 

“Alas, no. He was too sly for that; he used my mother’s death as an excuse for his ‘Odin’ to withdraw, to demand time alone to grieve. What he did with that time, perhaps only Heimdall may know, and yet even he is likely not so bold as to turn his gaze upon his Liege. Or the one who seemed that way.” 

“Heimdall… is omniscient?” Steve asked in wonder, and shuddered again, remembering the weight of the eyes of Asgard’s gate keeper. 

“He sees all that does and may come to pass. On your return to Midgard after the feast, I will send you back with permission that he answer your questions about Loki and his deeds. But do not be fooled. His eyes see all, save the hearts and minds of men.”

“Then how couldn’t he tell it was Loki?” Steve asked, more wondering aloud than actually inquiring. Being reminded of the feast reminded him that if he had any hope of eating-- and not offending their hospitality-- it would probably be best to wait until after supper to get the part of the story where Thor and Odin beat Loki into a barely humanoid pulp. Just thinking about it made him lose his appetite-- he couldn’t imagine how he would react to Thor giving him details. 

Thor scowled. “Loki has ever been untrustworthy, and has long since honed his skill in hiding himself from Heimdall’s watchful eyes. It is not so far off to imagine that he has learned how to also disguise himself to them.”

Steve wondered who Loki had found to help him learn how to handle his magic, when his brother and, he assumed, his father, were so against it. He made a mental note to ask when he got back. 

“My Lord?” The serving girl who had brought the tray with the ale appeared now, and Steve was instantly uneasy at her deportment. She shrank into herself, trying to be as small as possible. 

“Yes, what is it?” Thor asked, and he was not unkind, but his ready acceptance of her demeanor told Steve that it was expected, that this meekness was right. Steve had never seen an Asgardian woman before, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had record only of Asgard’s Queen and the Warrior Sif. Were all of the other women like this? Or was it a trait of the serving class?   
Either way it left a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Excuse my interruption, My Lord, but the feast in honor of Captain Steven Rogers of Midgard will be ready to begin shortly.” She lingered on that, as though she wanted to say more but was unsure how to broach the subject. 

“Was there something else, Sigyn?” Thor asked, and again he was kind, but still clearly patronizing. 

“Yes My Lord, sorry, My Lord, but… I thought perhaps Captain Rogers might like… that is, may wish... to change?” 

Thor turned back to look at Steve and for the first time that day let out a true laugh.   
“My friend, she is right. You would seem out of place presented to my father’s court in such clothes. I am sorry-- Sigyn, I assume you have made arrangements?”   
Sigyn curtseyed, though she looked… oddly pleased, and more at ease. 

“If the Captain will follow me, I will see to it he is washed and dressed and presented to the hall in ample time for his introduction.” She did turn her attention towards Steve, but he realized that she neither spoke to him directly, nor met his eye at any point. 

“Steve? It is of course up to you.” Thor gestured with a dismissive flourish. Steve looked down at himself, in his uniform. He’d counted this as Captain America duties, and he was acting as an ambassador. But it seemed more like he might make less waves if he showed some local colors. When in Rome, and all.

“Thank you, Sigyn was it? I think I could use the help, don’t you?” Asking her directly, he tried engaging her, hoping she would respond. She simply curtseyed. 

“I will see you soon, Steve Rogers.” Thor said, standing, and Steve got to his feet as well. Sigyn curtseyed again and hurried to hold the door open, then looked back to be sure Steve was following her. He was. 

Once in the grand halls of Asgard’s palace, he followed her through a series of turns that anyone without the serum for backup would have found disorienting. He was darn close when they finally reached their destination. 

“Through here,” she instructed, voice if possible even softer than it had been in the room with Thor, and she still wouldn’t look at him.   
“Sigyn?” It bugged him, and he knew she was even more uptight with him than with Thor, probably unsure how to interact with a… Midgardian. The word felt odd in his mind, let alone his mouth. 

“Yes Captain Rogers?” She was polite, perfectly so, and so inoffensive that he could hardly believe she was real. 

“I just wanted to say-- I don’t-- I don’t need you to treat me like I’m some honored or high ranked person, alright? My parents were about as working class as they come, for as long as I had them.” He wasn’t sure what part of him was putting her on edge, so he figured he’d start with that. 

“May I speak freely, then, Captain Rogers?” She asked, her voice held light and her eyes still diverted deferentially. 

“I would appreciate it if you did.” He told her with a smile. 

“I am a servant, and you are a guest of honor in the House of Odin. Were any to see me behaving in a way that would be considered untoward or overly casual, you would be congratulated, and I would be ostracized by my peers. And there are eyes everywhere in this place. Besides-- I have not always been a servant, and I will not always be a servant, and long after you die, I may well be a Queen. These are all things that I must consider, far beyond who your parents are or were, on a world that isn’t my own. So please,” The tone of her voice softened and changed back into something far more demure, “If you go through those doors, you will find a wash basin and the clothing I have laid out for you. If it is not to your liking or if you need assistance donning it, please do not hesitate to call.” She gave him a small smile and a curtsey, and he found himself dumbstruck. 

He made his way through the doors while he mulled over what she’d said, and he wondered again about this place. He wished he could have come here with Loki. He at least seemed to have a far more innate grasp on the differences between their cultures, as well as the ability to explain. 

And what a strange thought to have, wishing Loki was around. Especially when it was obvious there was no love lost for him here, on either side. Getting Loki back to Asgard would be like trying to drag a cat into a bath. 

Once he was washed, he pulled on the simple shirt and breeches, fumbling a little with the lacing at the cuffs, before deciding he would ask Sigyn’s help for that at least, when he apologized. Because he felt that he needed to.   
The vest came next, a long thing with lots of overlapping straps and decorative fur tufts around the arm holes. There were also two small silver rings that sat on the fronts of his shoulders, roughly where a rifle butt would sit, that didn’t seem to be decorative, but which he couldn’t figure out what he was meant to do with them.   
Once he was as dressed as he could get, he came out of the door. 

“Uh, Sigyn?” He called, not seeing her in the waiting room. 

Instantly she was on her feet, from where she had been sitting primly in a window seat. 

“Captain Rogers,” she acknowledged, her eyes again averted. 

“First I wanted to apologize. It was rude of me to try and bypass your customs without any knowledge, and for my own comfort.” 

She jerked her head up at that, staring him in the face with wide eyes, obviously surprised enough to break-- momentarily-- from her perfect mask of servitude. 

When she didn’t seem to know what to say, he held up his arms.   
“Also, do you think you could help me with these?” He asked with a wry smile, waving the loose strings back and forth a bit in air.

She smiled and covered it with her hand before schooling her face back to pleasant neutrality. 

“Of course.” She said, and whether it was in answer to one or both of the things he’d said, he accepted it with a grateful nod. She fixed his laces in silence, then tucked them into the sleeve cuffs. “So they do not fall into your soup.” She explained. Then she held up a finger and disappeared back into the room he’d dressed in, returning with a long bundle of fabric and a few pieces of what looked like leather armor that he hadn’t even seen, let alone realized he was supposed to be wearing. 

She put the bracers on, first, hiding the laces that she had just tied. Then came some sort of bib that went under the flaps of the vest and looked and fit as if it had been molded over his chest.  
Finally she unwound the fabric and draped it over his shoulders, securing it in place with two flat round decorative metal plates that twisted into the loops he’d noticed before. 

“You are ready. I will keep your clothing here, and after the feast I will see to it that myself or someone else brings you back and assists in divesting you.” She paused for a breath, eyes darting around the room and lingering on the window, then leaned in a little. “Is it true, what they say, about your returning Gungnir’s tip?” She asked it in barely a whisper, staring hard at him.

“Yes…?” He said, feeling puzzled. “That’s the reason for the feast isn’t it?” She seemed to ignore that. 

“Gungnir broke while Odin was seeing Loki punished.” She pressed. 

“I know.” Steve tried very hard not to thin his lips or let any sign of his discomfort show, tried to keep his face as neutral as hers had been for most of the time he’d known her. He didn’t think it had worked though, as she studied him closely, her hands gripping the lapels of the vest. 

“Please, do you have any news of--”   
The doors opened, and she broke off her words, hurriedly moving her hands so that it seemed she was simply smoothing out his clothes.   
“There!” she proclaimed, then turned to face the fully armed and armored soldier who had come in. Steve felt his heart beating in his throat, afraid that her tiny step out of line had somehow been discovered. 

“They are ready for Captain Rogers in the Grand Hall.” He said simply, and Sigyn curtseyed. 

“I will be certain to be the one to bring you back after the feast.” She told him, her words soft but her eyes shining with something altogether fiercer. 

“Thank you.” He said firmly, not allowing his puzzlement to show through. She curtseyed again, and then gestured that he should follow the guardsman out.

“This way, please.” The guard said, and Steve nodded and followed as he was led at a quick clip down the halls again. He was glad that he was being led around, because just as he wasn’t sure how he got to the changing room, he was equally sure he would have no chance of finding his way back.

They drew up short outside of a hall with double doors easily thrice as high as Steve was.   
The guardsman nodded jerkily to the two others dressed identically to him, and they opened the doors. 

Steve didn’t know what he expected, maybe some sort of quiet family affair with Thor and Odin and the most important of people at their court, but it felt like the entire population of Asgard was there-- not that he really had any idea of how large of an area “Asgard” was.   
Still, there was probably hundreds of people housed in that single room, and as he entered every pair of eyes turned to him. He felt like he was on stage again, flashed back to the grey faces of the guys who had just come back from hell that they had sent him in front of, blindly. And then Thor stood. 

“Captain Steven Rogers of Midgard has returned Gungnir to Odin Alfather!” The words were bellowed and a great cheer rose up, and if words were formed within it, Steve couldn’t tell what they were. Lots of vowel sounds, though. He felt himself blushing, and Odin beckoned him forward. 

He stepped forward, walking around the head of long tables, aware of the cheers that moved with him like a wave at a ball game.   
It felt incredibly unnatural, considering that none of these people knew him. He imagined this sort of honor was usually reserved for returning heroes, winners of battles, successful hunters. He was here to bring back a knife and try and find a way to justify the sympathy he felt for they guy who was probably the most maligned badguy in their recent history. He didn’t figure he’d be very popular if they knew him. But then, maybe any reason to celebrate was a reason to celebrate. 

When he reached the head table, the seat reserved for him was between Thor and Odin, to the right of the king. They were really not joking about the whole Guest of Honor title, but Thor didn’t seem to be upset about his displacement. When Steve took his seat, Thor plunked a huge tankard of what looked like syrupy apple juice in front of him. 

“Drink with me, Captain!” 

Steve looked into the cup, bemused, well aware that his body metabolized alcohol too quickly for him to feel the effects. Provided, of course, that Asgardian alcohol worked anything at all like the alcohol on Earth.   
Deciding to risk it for appearances, he lifted his flask. He kept an eye on Thor, unsure what would be considered a good sized drink.   
It was honeyed, cloying on the tongue, and almost heavy feeling. He swallowed, then kept doing so as he realized that Thor intended to drain his entire glass in a single go. 

Once both of them were emptied, Thor chucked the stein over his shoulder and roared out “Another!”   
And then Sigyn appeared at their elbows with replacement drinks, moving Steve’s old cup onto her tray as she passed. 

Odin saw him looking and tapped his arm.   
“Sigyn.” He said, as though introducing her. “One of Loki’s followers, his most loyal, I’d wager. We don’t know whether he is promised to her or if it is merely her ambition, but she claims to be his intended. Of course, by the time it came out he was in no condition to comment.” Odin looked… if not smug, at least satisfied by that. Steve felt like he was looking for approval from him, but all he could think about was Peggy. Peggy, waiting for that dance. 

“Is that why she’s a servant? Because she’s a Loki supporter?” He wondered how many who were still alive were affected by what Loki had done, how far the ripples of his decisions spread. 

“Loki has never had many friends.” Odin told him quietly but firmly. “After he was banished, what few he had renounced him, for the most part. Save Sigyn.” His words were weight, almost regretful, and it didn’t mesh with what Steve knew of him. “She is one of the Vanir, a sister race to us, the Aesir. Her kind are masters of the mind, the fields, and the future. She will not return to them of her own will, and to send her back against it would be a grave insult. Graver even than our use of her as a castle hand. I had thought to make her wish to leave, but it seems she excels in her work, delights in it for the most part. Between you and I, Captain Rogers, I do not know what to do with her.” Odin seemed amused by his, as though he always knew what to do about everything, and this woman, this insignificant thing that was defying his logic, was nothing but an entertainment. 

Steve had to stamp down hard on the growing sensation of disgust he felt flooding his chest. He took up the full mug and held it up to Odin as if in agreement, and the din increased in the room with his action. Thor clapped him on the back again, and then the food was brought out. 

It was a long process, eating in Asgard, and by the time he had finished enough food to satisfy three men, Steve was over it. He was good with reading situations, watching strategies. He wasn’t as good with people, but even so it wasn’t hard to see all the bubbling pockets of intrigue, secrets and sneaking and scheming, even during an event that was ostensibly celebratory. 

He couldn’t help but thinking that Loki made sense here; that, like Thor, in the context of his native lands, he fit. Or fit better. 

As a team of four brought out another roast… something that looked like a cross between a lizard and a giant pig, Steve decided he was ready to go. 

“I should be getting home.” He called to Thor, glad he had a voice that could carry, considering the bout of drunken singing and semi rhythmic backing band of bashing things on the tables that had started up. 

Thor stood, his chair’s scraping calling some to attention and the rest turning to look when Thor clapped his hands together, and a volley of thunder crashed around the hall. 

“Steve Rogers is to return to Midgard this day, but Asgard’s gratitude does not end with this feast.” Thor beckoned for Steve to stand, and Steve found that Odin, too, had risen, and with him all of those who had been seated suddenly found their feet. Steve looked out over the sea of wavering, standing, slumping, and occasionally drinking Asgardians, and all he could think was that none of them-- not one-- had stepped forward to help Loki when he’d been smashed to a pulp. 

“If you ever wish to return, Captain Rogers,” Odin said, turning to survey Steve with his good eye, “You need only call for Heimdall, and the Bifrost’s passage will be open to you.”

“Thank you.” He said, with all the gravity the situation seemed to demand. He looked around, not sure the best route to exit the hall, but there was Sigyn at his elbow.  
He turned to Thor, remembering that they were supposed to speak further, and Thor met his eye.

“Go reclaim your garments, friend, then return to my chambers-- I will await you there.”  
Sigyn curtsied and Steve had to work hard not to react similarly, from the weight of Thor’s idle command. No wonder Loki responded best to similar tones from him-- it was just what he was used to.

He let Sigyn lead him away with gentle fingers pressed to his arm. 

“Is Loki--” He started, trying to engage her as they walked, but she turned and shot him a glare that silenced him as certainly as a slap to the face would have. 

“Loki will never see these halls again.” She told him firmly, though the set of her mouth made it obvious that she either disagreed or was unhappy about it. 

But she made her point-- she couldn’t speak freely. Not here, maybe not anywhere. He wasn’t sure how he could talk to her, but he knew he should. 

He wasn’t given a chance, though, because when she brought them back to the changing chambers, because there was already someone else there-- another servant, he supposed, another woman in similar shaped clothing, though a lesser quality. Someone who didn’t have the benefit of being an honored visitor as well as an attendant. 

Together the two of them divested him of as much as he would allow before he had to insist they stop, for his modesty, if not their own.

The new woman, Aesa, was cheerful and seemed sweet, but talked almost incessantly and about very little. Steve managed to respond automatically with the correct noises at the correct times, but most of his mind was committed to trying to figure out how not to lose the chance to talk to Sigyn. He stayed worried right up until he was pulling his boot back on, and found a thickly folded bit of parchment. It bore a seal that looked like a jagged S, probably a rune, but he hoped it meant what it looked like, and that it was from Sigyn. Knowing he couldn’t ask, he tucked it back into the boot when he was dressed, and came back out. 

“My, you do look… colorful.” Aesa commented. “Do all your people go about in such fitted garments?” 

“Not all.” He answered, smiling. 

“I should hope not!” She said, sliding in closer to him. “After all, not everyone can have your physique to make such apparel flattering.”

This happened, now, and he knew it did, but he always felt like the same Steve he had been in the past. It always felt like a mean joke at first, before he had to stop and remember that, right. Women did like him now, sometimes. 

“Kind of you to say.” He demurred, and from the corner of his eye he saw Sigyn clap a hand to her mouth, obviously trying to stifle a laugh.   
Aesa, on the other hand, frowned before her expression lightened.   
“Ohh,” She purred, more mocking now than flirting. “I think I see. You a little ergi, Captain?”   
And then it really did feel like a bad joke, and even without knowing the word, he caught the implication.   
Behind her, Sigyn looked furious.   
But Aesa still pressed on.   
“You and Thor seemed close-- Brothers in arms, was it? You know, his adoptive brother, Loki--” 

“Enough.” Sigyn said, and though it was quiet, it was no less fearsome for it. The woman seemed to be her own brand of storm-- not Thor’s thunder, for sure, but if this was Loki’s lady, it made sense. She could hold her own.   
“This is a guest of Odin’s. Would you like him to tell Thor of your words? Perhaps he could go ask Heimdall what ‘ergi’ means. What do you think, Aesa?” While her overall tone was light, there was a venomous sting to it. Aesa frowned, then curtseyed, suddenly stiff and tight lipped. 

“Excuse me, my lord.” She said towards him. “If it suits you, I’ll accompany you to Thor’s chambers now, as requested by Odin.” The last seemed directed at Sigyn, and it seemed the two had their own rivalry going that he had unwittingly been thrust into. 

Sigyn, though, did not rise to the bait. Instead she dropped into a graceful curtsey, and nodded to Steve.   
“It has been a pleasure, Captain. I hope you will visit us again.” 

“Perhaps I will.” He said, and he bowed back at her, well aware that he was showing more than the level of respect due to one of her stature, but also aware that she deserved it, between being who and what she was. Still, it appeared to disgruntle Aesa, and once they were in the hall, she told him as much. 

“You shouldn’t bow to your servants.” She informed him. “It puts you at their level.” 

“Really?” He asked, playing dumb as best as he was able. “I’m sorry, I’m a stranger to the customs here. I thought it was just polite.”   
Aesa seemed to buy it, or at least she looked mollified. 

“Here we are.” She stopped with her hands on the doors. “I realize you are unfamiliar to our lands, but I appreciate if you would refrain from telling Thor of the word I used in your presence. It was a joke, but one I fear is not well received outside of the circumstances.” 

Sure, he thought, The circumstances being you thought I was too dumb to understand, and not important enough to matter. Still, he wasn’t about to be petty about it. Let her take the warning to heart if she was going to. He doubted it though, and if that was the case, who knew? Maybe the next person she made a joke about would do something much worse than telling Thor.   
“I won’t.” He told her. She smiled and opened the door to Thor’s outer chambers.

“Captain Steve Rogers of Midgard.” She announced, voice pitched to carry, and she did everything Sigyn had done all along, averting her eyes and letting her form slump. Deferring.   
Thor came out from the inner chambers and gestured to Steve. 

“It was odd seeing you in our garb, Steven. This is better.” Thor looked over him, then nodded, confirming it to himself. “Suits you.” 

“That seems to be the consensus.” Steve quipped, and Thor raised an eyebrow. “The lady who brought me in here. She thought so, too.”   
Thor laughed. 

“I imagine so.” He patted Steve’s arm. “Well. Is there aught more you want to know of Loki? I fear if I were to recount his every crime, we would be here long past your death.” Steve knew he wasn’t imagining the hurt on Thor’s face, but he couldn’t tell if it was for the fact that he was mortal or the idea of talking about Loki more. 

He hesitated, then shook his head no. He had enough jumbled up in there, and Odin had granted him the right to return if he needed to.   
“Not today… Honestly all that feasting tired me out.” He almost tacked on ‘Must be a mortal thing.’ at the end, but realized that only meant he had been spending too much time around Tony again. “But I might come back sometime, if that’s okay?” 

“But of course!” Thor assured him. 

“Thank you.” He said, and meant it. He hesitated, wanting to say something, maybe tell him that Loki was better now, healing if not healed… but it was a very real worry in his mind that Thor might see that as an invitation to undo the work they’d done so far. And Loki had had powers the last time, had been something more than human. If Thor or Odin got his hands on him now… 

“Can I just ask… why didn’t Odin kill Loki outright? Why all of the torture, and then the binding and the banishment?” 

“I say it is because death is too easy for him, too good for the man he has become.” Thor responded instantly, and Steve felt his stomach churn. But Thor continued, grudgingly. “However, my father will not say, which means that he has plans for him. The Alfather has given much to be as wise as he is, and he may know things I do not. But if he expects myself or Asgard to welcome Loki back with open arms, well. He is much older than he looks.” Thor smiled, but there was threat to it. All of the jollity of the feast had fallen away, and he looked weary and hollow again. 

Steve couldn’t tell what was worse-- Thor’s death sentence, or the assumption that Odin had plans, perhaps even worse than had already been done to Loki. And he wanted to comfort Thor through the pain he was obviously in… but it was hard when it seemed like he was mourning the brother he had all but killed. Still, Steve realized, he hadn’t heard that part yet. Not from either side, entirely. He reached out a tentative hand and laid it over Thor’s.

“You’ve gotten sadder, Thor. I know I was here to talk Loki, and that didn’t help, but if you ever want to talk…” He trailed off, not sure how to invite him without giving him access to his brother. 

“Perhaps on your next visit, Steven. Thank you.” Thor gave him a genuine, if exhausted smile-- the first, Steve thought, of his whole trip. “Would you like me to come with you to Heimdall? Though he sees all, his focus may be divided. It is only polite to inform him of the Alfather’s orders regarding your transport.” 

“I don’t know if I could find my way out at this point,” He admitted sheepishly. Thor’s smile widened. 

“It is for the best. I could send you with a message for him, written, signed, sealed… but he would be suspicious until it was confirmed in person. Loki’s time as King has left all of Asgard shaken in its trust of our defenses.” 

Steve nodded, his brain already unraveling the after effects of Loki’s reign from a tactical stand point. He still didn’t know as much as he would like to, but he knew Loki would talk to him about it. And next time, maybe Odin would, too. If he could think of a way to ask.

“Come this way,” Thor said suddenly, moving deeper into his rooms. 

Bemused, Steve followed.   
Thor opened a door that was against the far wall, and which led into a similarly furnished room, but instead of shades of red, everything was decorated in greys and greens. He knew immediately whose room they were in.   
He didn’t get a chance to look around much, but he memorized everything he could, before Thor opened another door. 

“When we were children, Loki made this exit just for us. We were always sneaking out, and it was much easier if we didn’t need to go past every guard in the palace to do so.” Thor looked like he was fond of those memories, and Steve wanted to ask what had changed, when exactly Thor had given up on Loki. He couldn’t, though. There were just some things you couldn’t put a voice to. 

“Handy.” He said instead. Thor held the door open for him, and he found himself atop one of the gleaming spires that he’d seen on his way into the palace. It was windy up here, and he was grateful that he had his uniform on. It made it bearable.   
“We follow this path down to the road that you arrived by. From there, it is but a few minutes’ walk to the Bifrost.”  
Thor’s voice cut through the winds, or maybe parted them.   
Steve didn’t bother answering aloud, just nodded and started off, glad that Loki had at least had the presence of mind to keep the grade slight and to install a handrail. It wasn’t that Steve had a problem with heights, or falling, or even landing. He’d done all of that. It was the space of time before it, when you knew it was going to be happening, that was the worst. 

Setting foot on stable ground again was a relief, especially when he looked back and saw that part of the road had been atop a structure that appeared not to have any attachment to the rest of the world.   
He’d seen magic, he’d felt the effects of it, but he’d never walked on something that was just floating by itself before. He suppressed a little shiver, then wondered if even the architecture was magical, how they could look down on Loki for his magic. But, again, not something you just ask casually. 

Getting back to Earth was no less jarring, no less mind boggling, but Steve had so much on his mind that he couldn’t soak it in the way he had on the way here.   
He’d known he’d come back with questions, but there were so many more of them than the answers he’d gotten. He knew he’d achieved some things, but… right now, it was hard to tell what. 

And it was true, he was exhausted. When his feet hit the concrete in Central Park, it was dusk. He’d been gone all day. In a flash of panic, he checked his Stark phone. Just the one day, thank goodness.   
But it was enough. 

He wasn’t ready to see Loki tonight, so he just headed back home. 

The trip was quiet, and so was his apartment, and it made him glad that he hadn’t taken Tony up on his offer to move into the tower yet, if ever. He liked his team, he really did. But he also needed time away from them, time to figure out stuff. Whether it was technology or media or just… how he fit into all of this. Having his own space helped. 

And right now, what would help the most was his own bed. 

He switched his phone off, changed into sleep wear, and curled up, hoping his mind would stop turning things over long enough for him to get some rest.   
That hope for the day, at least, panned out for him.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: This chapter contains the first of the Spoilers for The Winter Soldier, and hereafter the plot will include references to the events contained therein. 
> 
> Additionally, this chapter features discussion of torture. If that bothers you, I can promise that this is the last of the Loki's backstory chapters, and from here on out, we are moving forward, not looking back. Thank you for reading!

Two days after the surgery and subsequent healing, Loki woke up again. He was aching but there were no sharp pains, nothing that felt quite the same level of agony as he’d become accustomed to. He stretched in his bed the little that he could, and frowned at the realization that he’d been strapped in place, and not with the medical velcro straps, but actual metallic handcuffs, as if to add insult to the injury.

He opened his eyes, aware of the feeling of being watched. He expected to see Captain Rogers, but a very different blonde sat in the chair by his bed-- a chair which he couldn’t help but note had been moved back a good two feet or so.

“Barton.” he greeted, opting for civil but cautious. He’d just finished healing as best as he could, and had probably at least another month before he would be fully able to move around, provided he was allowed to get up and begin refamiliarizing his legs with the process of standing. He was in no rush to lose that progress to old grudges.

 

“Loki.” Barton said, and then fell silent, opting to brood and stare rather than speaking.

Loki couldn’t sit up, and so had to raise his head to look at the other man, but it didn’t take long for his neck muscles to feel the strain and his head to fall back onto the pillows with a mockingly subdued thump.

He sighed.

 

“Did you have a reason for your visit, Barton? Something I can do for you?” There was another period of silence and Loki tried to restrain himself, but failed miserably.

“I can’t read your thoughts at current, Barton. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to fill me in in a more audible manner?”

Clint made an indignant noise and Loki sighed.

“I am sure you want an apology, but I am afraid I have a hard time furnishing it. Or, I could, but it would be insincere, which is nearly the same.”

“You bastard.” He spat, rising jerkily, his muscles still loose and coiled for the motion, in spite of however long he’d sat there motionlessly.

“Barton.” Loki stopped him in his tracks, making his voice strong and clear. Barton turned back, scowling, and lifted his eyebrow, obviously implying that this had better be good.

“I want to apologize, but unlike you I was not trained in how to resist and react to torture. I have screamed my apologies to you across seven universes, and each time, you have struck me down for it. You don’t understand, and that is fine, but I… you would be strong enough to do it again. I am not. I cannot make amends through words, and at present I am disabled beyond making things right through actions, if such were possible at all. It would be as good as a lie, and at this point, I feel you deserve better than that. The words would bring no comfort to either of us.”

Barton gaped for a second, thrown off. He straightened, pulling himself together.

“What is this, then? What game are you playing now?” They were less questions and more demands, and Loki couldn’t help but wonder how many nights Barton had lay awake since he’d arrived, scouring his mind for traces of him, hints that Loki had returned there, too. It made his chest feel tight and cold.

“I am as you see me now, or maybe more accurately as you saw me before. I have been healed by external influence, but I am without my powers. For the time being I cannot walk let alone do anything of violence-- and if I did, it would be with the strength of a mortal man. If you were to shoot me, stab me, hang me now, I would die, and that would be it. The end of Loki.” He knew he was testing him, tempting him into killing him. But he also knew, from his time inside the man’s head, that he wanted to be good. More than anything, he wanted that. And a good man would never do what Loki was proposing. He was counting on his reputation as a ne’er do well to force Barton further on the side of his conscience.

 

In any event, neither Barton or Loki got a chance to find out how the marksman would have reacted, because Rogers returned.

 

The Captain had a way about him that seemed to bring out the best in people, though it was perhaps just his expectation that they would do good that led them to try. Which, of course, meant that Barton was stuck with taking the high road.

 

“Thank you, Loki.” He said, voice dull and somewhat hollow… enough to make Loki wince, and enough for Captain Rogers to round on him suspiciously.  He opened his hands in their restraints to show his palms, and would have raised them if he could.

“I haven’t done anything.” He said softly, both in response to Barton’s gratitude and in reaction to the Captain’s unspoken accusation. Rogers looked over at Barton, who nodded and left, leaving Loki to wonder exactly where this conversation was starting from… and what Thor and Odin may have said to Rogers to turn him further against him.

 

He knew he’d gone. It was impossible to miss the flash of light that was the Bifrost opening each way, and he knew that meant he’d spent the majority of the day on Asgard.

The Captain’s face was impossible to read though. And that made Loki’s work harder.

“Hello Captain.” He greeted cautiously.

“Loki.” Rogers responded. “What happened with Barton just now?”

It made sense. If anyone would worry about his enemy, he must worry more so about his team.

“He wanted an apology, I think. I explained to him as best I was able that the words would do neither of us any good, that I would try to make reparations, but an “I’m sorry” was hardly enough.”

The good Captain stared, a small wrinkle sitting between his brows, like he was trying to figure something out.

Loki had much more patience for his silence than Barton’s.

 

“I went to Asgard yesterday, like you wanted.” Rogers said at length.

“Yes. Heimdall is never subtle.” Loki offered. “What did you think of it?”

“It’s… big. I got a pretty unique view on the way out-- Thor took me out through your exit, the one you made.” He waited, obviously looking for a reaction.

It twinged in his chest, a quiet sort of ache that should be long since healed over. He pressed his lips together, licking them inside his mouth.

“I am glad to hear that it is still of use.” He offered, ignoring the nostalgic feelings.

“I talked a little bit to Odin, and more with Thor.” Loki winced but held his tongue, waiting and well aware that the Captain must be watching him. “I also met Sigyn.” He said it like he was offering Loki some beam of hope, some olive branch.

Loki nearly scoffed.

“Oh, now one of these things is not like the others. And how is she these days? Forsworn me to make pretty with the court, no doubt.” It didn’t hurt, at least. In fact, it was a good distraction, a change of subject that he was only too happy to cling to.

“She was working as a servant while I was there, apparently because she refused to deny her involvement with you. She’s… waiting for you.” The Captain’s voice gentled, like he was giving Loki some sort of touching news. Something he thought would be welcomed.

Loki laughed, a dry little sound. “I don’t suppose she told you the tale of how we came to be betrothed?” He asked, knowing full well she would not have.  Still, Rogers shook his head, looking consternated. Loki smiled thinly.

“I am sure you thought you were bringing me some great news, Captain, but in truth I traded to her my freedom and a share in my place in line for the throne of Asgard, in exchange for information with which to protect the realm from certain destruction. Destruction that would have been my fault, yes, but I was working to solve it.” He felt a little petulant, laying it out so.

“We didn’t get to talk much, I’ll admit.” Rogers said. “But uh…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded square of parchment. “But she asked me about you, and then she gave me this-- I figured it’s probably for you.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Well I can’t very well read it, at the moment, even if I were so inclined.” He shifted his hands in the cuffs, a wry smile twisting his lips.

“She’s probably the only friend you have left where you come from. Why are you so quick to dismiss her?” Rogers seemed genuinely upset, and Loki paused, pursing his lips to stop the words that wanted to pour out.

 

“And why, Captain, are you so adamant that I should care?” He asked at length, sure there was more to it than he was seeing.

“She couldn’t even talk to me about you, but she put herself in danger just to get this to you, and now you won’t even read it.” Rogers’ feathers still sounded ruffled.

Loki sighed.

“Captain, Sigyn is a good woman. She is an innocent in all of this. You should in truth be rejoicing that I will not dignify her affections with responses in kind. She does not deserve to be dragged into my downfall. Particularly not now that I will live… a mere blink of her eye at most, and a good deal less, likely, once your superiors decide what they will do to me. Which, I suppose, aided by whatever you may have learned in Asgard, may be sooner than later.” He knew his voice had caught at mention of his own lifespan, but it was, again, the truth.

“She reminds me of m-- I knew a gal, back before I ended up in the ice,” Rogers began, pulling the chair closer to the bedside and taking a seat. “Sigyn seems to have the same spine as Peggy did, the same sort of loyalty to the people she believes in.” The Captain bit his lip. “Do you really not want this letter, or are you just afraid of what’s in it?”

“I can tell you what will be in it. Either she will ask me to release her from our betrothal, or she will promise that she would never do so. In either case, there is no happiness to be gained from it. She will plead for news from me of my well being, without mentioning a word of her hardships. And she will offer me information on the goings on of the court, in the hopes that I will find something in her words to help me claw my way out of this hole I have landed in. She would not act against Odin or Thor, for she is fond of both of them, and in honor of my mother-- my mother’s memory.” His voice cracked again and he cursed himself for it, for allowing the guilt to well up and overflow his stomach and strangle his tongue. He cleared his throat. “But she will give me the tools, the means, to do what I do best. What I did best.” He looked away, and to the cuffs on his wrist. “I will not read it.” He told the other man decisively. It made him a coward, again, but also saved him from emotions that he could not at present stomach. “But if you find it so important, you may.”

He watched as Rogers considered the note, then sat it gingerly on the table beside his bed.

 

“Why did they decide to put you in cuffs? No one told me of any violence…” He finally asked, gesturing at the restraints.

Loki let his lip curl in disdain.

“I woke up this way. I suppose now that I am whole in theory, they would have me immobilized in different ways. Though I would advise that if they expect me to walk to my trial, if I get one, or to whatever fate they have decided on for me, they allow me time to strengthen the muscles in my legs. It has been… I have not walked in quite some time.”

“I’ll see what I can do… if you will trade me.” Rogers offered, and he sounded like he was hedging whether he could do what he said.

“You do not offer much, but I have even less to bargain with. What is it that you want, Captain?”

Loki was weary and wary and altogether hesitant. He disliked playing with unknown variables and untraceable quantities. The Captain and the knowledge he held after his trip to Asgard was one such example.

 

“I want to know what you did while you were pretending to be Odin.” He said, the demand both bold and confident. Loki felt his eyebrow curling upwards and a smile hitching itself to the leftmost corner of his mouth.

“Oh is that all?” He asked slyly. “Why is it that you want so much to know my stories, Captain? I understand my urge to tell you them, but not your willingness to listen. It is not out of respect, for I think you have no reason to respect me, and it is not born of duty. You have a real interest. I can’t help but be suspicious of what you intend to do with this knowledge.” There was a real barb there, a real kernel of distrust, for though his ability to undo the stitches had proven him to meet Odin’s approval, so had Thor, who had put them there in the first place. Good was quantifiable as being against the bad, and so though the Captain may be good, it did not mean that Loki was safe from him. If anything, it meant that he was likely honor bound to disarm Loki, to destroy him if he could. This felt all too much like a game of cat and mouse, and Loki did not like being the prey.

“I think you’re right, I think you’ll have a trial. But I don’t know how much of a chance you’re going to have to speak for yourself. I want to know as much of your story from you as I can before that happens, so that if you aren’t given a chance, I can speak up. And I want to know what Asgard did to you, in the hopes that past punishments will make your sentence lighter. We have laws that protect people from being sentenced multiple times for the same crimes.”

 

Loki stared silently at the Captain for a long minute.

“Do you truly think,” He asked with total seriousness, “That if they will not listen to me, that they will listen to their hero speaking for me, without being convinced I am puppeteering you? You could not hear Clint Barton say two civil words to me without thinking similarly.”

Rogers looked embarrassed, and Loki thought distantly that it was a good look on him. As much as he appreciated the Captain America bluster, there were times when it was easy to see that it was internal conviction, with no supporting structure behind it. That was something to be played upon, if he could find a way. For now, though, this was the embarrassment of a man going from self righteous to ashamed of having been called out upon his distrust… the irony being that his guilt was utterly undeserved and born only of politeness.

“I’m sorry,” He said, and Loki marveled at how he could say so and truly mean it, every time the words left his lips.

“Why?” Loki pressed. “You apologize for distrust that you have every reason to exhibit.” The Captain was not a dumb man, nor was he playing dumb. But he did not appear to be looking at his own motivations, and such internal blindness was the sort of thing that led Thor to be the barbarian that he had been for so long.

 

“I don’t know what it’s like where you’re from, other than what you’ve told me and what I saw while I was there, but Asgardian justice sounds an awful lot to me like torture and bullying. And quite frankly, the same is true of the justice here, now. Before I… before I woke up, justice to me was simple. It was rights and wrongs and figuring out which was which. Now that seems a lot harder. The people you’re supposed to be able to trust, you can’t always, and sometimes the people you shouldn’t… well.”

 

“Your vagueness is infuriating, Captain. And you seem to imply that you are inclined to trust me, to want to do so. Why? Does a bully beaten for his crimes become a good person for it? If so, how many good people have you made, over the years?” The bitterness was creeping back into his voice, and he couldn’t make himself care.

“Whooping a bully doesn’t make you a hero. It just makes you a bigger bully. I’m not here for that. Even though sometimes it feels like some of the folk around me are-- I want to try and make sure that isn’t what happens to you. And before you ask me why again, it’s because I found you, I helped send you to the people who did that to you. I feel responsible.”

Loki soaked the words in, then nodded.

“One final question, then, Captain, and I mean this with absolute sincerity. In your ideal version of events, how does this end?”

 

“I have… a friend. I had a friend. No, uh, there’s… a guy I know. He was a friend who was turned into a tool, a weapon to be used against us, against me. He’s in rehabilitation now, and in theory, once he’s passed a series of tests, he will be allowed to start a life here, to get a fresh start. Maybe there’s something like that for you. I know what’s on offer here is a short life by your standards, but it’s my hope that you will at least be allowed to live it.”

“Wasn’t it you, though, who proclaimed me dangerous despite my lack of magic and strength?”

“Wasn’t it you who said you’re a monster because other people told you so?”

 

Loki felt his lips twitching upwards. It wasn’t often that someone parried against him with his own words, let alone did so with such naked conviction, such earnestness.

“And this friend-not-friend of yours, what’s being done to him, where he is?” Loki wanted to know what he was agreeing to, if he followed the Captain’s plans, but unlike the Captain, who wanted to trust him but knew he couldn’t, Loki didn’t want to trust him, but knew that he could.

“They talk to him, they try and jog his memory. He lost a lot of time, so he’s receiving an education on all the history he’s missed out on, all the technological advances. It’s a lot of catching up to do, and I’m speaking from experience.”

“I will tell you of my time as King, though it is likely you won’t think me so worthy of being rehabilitated afterwards. Still, a deal is a deal, is it not? And you are the good one, the one who is expected to hold his end of the bargain.” Loki waited expectantly, then prodded, “Yes?”

“I’m not lying to you, Loki. Really.”

Loki nodded. “And the same is true of me. Though I trust Odin and Thor will have made it seem otherwise.”

“No, from what I heard when I was there… if anything you’re omitting some of how you were treated. And I want to know that, too… but Thor couldn’t tell me what you did, let alone why you did it. I want you to tell me both.”

“You reserve some hope that beyond my means, there is an ends that may not be as wicked as you believe. Captain, I am sorry to tell you that you are wrong, but everything I did was to save myself and improve my standings. I am truly what they say-- a liar, a cheat, and a coward. Do you know why I became King? Other than the obvious accusation of Loki’s need for a throne.”

“No, I… can’t say that I do. But I’m listening.” He moved his legs, sitting more easily.

 

“I needed access to the treasury. That’s all. When I invaded your world, I made a deal with powers far greater than my own, and I failed to uphold my end of the bargain. Thanos wanted something from within Odin’s treasury-- I meant to hold your world ransom for it. When that failed, I meant to escape my cell and steal it. But… things changed. May I tell you something, Captain? Something I haven’t told anyone. Thor would kill me if he knew.”

 

“I won’t tell him.” The Captain assured him, and Loki let his body mold into the mattress.

 

“I killed Frigga. The Queen. I killed my mother.” There was silence, and Loki couldn’t bring himself to look at the Captain’s face. It shouldn’t matter, but the Captain had never directed disgust at him. Not since he’d awakened here.

“I was in my cell and I saw the Kursed leaving. And I told him where to go, directed him to Odin’s chambers. I hoped-- I wanted Odin dead. And he went, but Odin wasn’t there. Frigga was, and she--” his voice had gotten rough and he choked on tears that he couldn’t help but let fall.

“In all I have done, if there is one thing I regret it is that. Frigga was kind to me. Too kind. And the last thing I told her was that she wasn’t my mother. That she never had been.”

He felt queasy, almost like he might be sick, and he had to force himself to stop. He clenched his jaw tightly closed, an attempt at stopping anything else from coming out-- words, air, pain.

 

Loki flinched when the Captain laid his hand on his arm, but the touch didn’t falter. Loki turned his head to look, and though Rogers was floundering for words, his face held horrified compassion.

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Loki made himself sound strong, even though he had never felt further from it.

“I took Odin’s throne. I imprisoned him in the cell where he had locked his brother, ages ago. I locked them there together. I figured, if anyone deserved to destroy him, it was Cul. But he didn’t.” He sniffled, trying to get his nose to stop running, but he pressed on.

“I contacted Thanos-- he was never fooled into thinking I was dead. I offered him the treasures of Asgard. And all he sent back was a messenger carrying a parchment with one word, ‘No.’ I panicked.”

 

“But I thought that was what he wanted?” Rogers asked, brow furrowing. “If not that then what?”

 

“I’ll get there.” Loki returned darkly. “But I was at a loss for what to do. Sif had grown suspicious, so I spent much of my time withdrawing. I blamed it on the grief of Frigga’s death. It wasn’t a complete lie. But as I thought, I realized that I had a weapon I could use against Thanos. No matter what else he is, he is male-- and Lorelei is capable of swaying any male to her way of thought. All I needed to do was bring her to my side of things.”

 

“Lorelei?” Rogers asked, and Loki rolled his eyes.

 

“Lorelei is a sorceress in Asgard. Well, she is very beautiful, and the small sorceries she has mastered are those to make herself irresistible to men. She may not have many powers, but those she does have are quite strong. I thought to use her against Thanos, but when I sent the Einherjar to retrieve her from the cells… it seems she escaped when the Dark Elves invaded. It gave me an opportunity to see to two things simultaneously. I could be rid of Sif’s ever watchful eyes, and get closer to achieving my ends. I sent Sif to Mid-- to Earth, with orders to retrieve Lorelei.”

 

“I-- how did no one know about this?” the Captain looked startled at the thought that Asgardians might come and go without the Midgardians noticing.

 “Sif said she was greeted by some of your S.H.I.E.L.D. A son of Coul and his team.”

 “Coulson? That’s can’t be right, I mean, you-- in New York, you killed him.”

 

Loki looked offended.

“While I’ve nothing against taking credit for my misdeeds, he was clearly not so dead as you thought. Perhaps he is now, but he was alive when Sif came. She had met him before, recall, when Thor was first banished to this realm.”

 

“I don’t understand,” Rogers murmured, shaking his head. “Coulson… when he died, that was the last push we needed, that was what made The Avengers work together to fight you. If he wasn’t dead…”

 “Are you really so surprised that you were lied to?” Loki pressed at the sore spot, like a finger in a wound. “As I recall there were some rather larger lies in place than the simple death of one man.”

 “How do you know about that?” Rogers asked sharply, jerking his face towards Loki with all the suspicion he was capable of. Loki’s lips curled into a devious smirk.

 “Hail Hydra.” He said solemnly, then laughed when Rogers springing up caused the chair to tip backwards. “No, no, Captain, stop.” There was no fear in his voice, only lazy mirth. “Until my powers were removed, there remained a tiny sliver of my mind within Barton’s. He was a news ticker for things going on here, and I like to keep an eye on newsworthy headlines.”

 

Rogers backed away, his breathing heavy-- though not from any feat of exertion, Loki noted. It was just how he expressed his ire.

“That wasn’t funny at all.”

 “Of course not.” Loki didn’t even try to sound apologetic.

 “Does Clint know how long you were in his head?” The Captain pressed, and Loki nodded.

 “I believe he heard echoes of my-- of what was happening to me, because of it. I will never be capable of apologizing enough.” He was solemn as he could be.

 “And what did happen to you?” The Captain was gruffer than usual, and Loki gave him a disapproving glare until he sat again, grudgingly.

 

“To shorten a long story, Captain… Sif brought me Lorelei, whom I charged with the seduction of Thanos, in exchange for promising her Thor’s hand. I was Odin, you see, and she knew no better. I consulted with Sigyn, to ensure the plan would go as needed. But in her psychic peering, she saw me for who I was. She told me she could help, but claimed my hand as her prize. I saw no other way, so I accepted. She told me Lorelei was close, but she could not do what I needed. She could affect him if she got to him, but she lacked the necessary power. Her sister, though, Amora, The Enchantress-- she could do it. But dealing with Amora is like dealing with a tornado. She turns on you and destroys everything in her path at a moment’s whim. She went after Thanos, but he revealed to her my deceit. She returned and lured Thor away, telling him she had found proof that I was alive. Instead, she led him to Odin, the true Odin. They returned together and banished me from the kingdom, to my true birthright lands. Odin sentenced me to die on Jotunheim, like he should have allowed me to do as a babe.”

 

“But you didn’t die-- because you’re a Frost Giant?” Rogers prompted, his ire lost in his interest in the story. Like a small child.

 

“No. I didn’t die because Thanos found me. Thanos brought me back to his lands. After three days in the frozen wastes wearing nothing but the ill fitting robes of Odin, it was almost a relief. At first. But then they explained what it was they wanted of me. Why Thanos had elevated me so high. It wasn’t for my sake. There was nothing he wanted to gain, from your world or the Alfather’s.” Loki paused, aware that he was leaning heavily on his words, for the final leg of his story was the longest, and the worst of it all.

 “Why? What did he want?”

 “When you become important enough in the grand scheme of things, you become elevated. You get noticed. He had to be sure I would gain her attention.”

 

“Whose?” Rogers insisted, sounding somewhere between impatient and scared, and Loki saw that his hand that was gripping the edge of his chair had gone white around the knuckles.

 “Death. Thanos intended to build me up and then use me as bait, to charm Death into coming back to him. Thanos is-- was-- mad with love for her, and nothing could stop him from trying to be worthy of her love.”

 “Thanos wanted you to conquer Earth so that you would be more important when he killed you?” Rogers was aghast, righteously bristling at the mere thought.

 

“Did I not deserve as much for allowing him to manipulate me so? But no, not just for a death. If he killed me quickly, she would never come, for it would not be worth her time. He had to make it slow, stretch it out over days. Weeks. A year. And just to raise the stakes, he chose to show me every possible variation of my fate. When you make a decision, Captain Rogers, every option that you do not choose, you also choose, in another version of the world.” He found himself trying to gesture, trying to illustrate the point, but unable. He looked up at the restraints and decided to be rid of them sooner than later.

“It ripples outwards, until the lines of the cosmos interlock and twine, pouring ever forward in a great, streaming, endless river. Between my tortures, I saw all of it. Too much. I knew too much to be allowed to live, too much for her not to ensure that my death be final. And it went on and on. I would be boiled alive, my skin picked from flesh that had expanded beyond its capacity, and then I would be thrust into a world where I was found not by Odin, but by one of my own race, murdered and eaten as a child in the aftermath of the war. And I felt every moment of it, the cold, the breaking of my bones. Being cut up and portioned out. Being bitten into. And then I would be back in the hands of The Other, and my magic had healed me, so that they could begin again. I was drown, flayed, broken on every tool you can imagine and many you can’t. I was thrown to beasts, given to hordes, short of being ground into a paste, I was administered every pain that magic could, eventually, heal. A year of this-- as I said, I can never apologize enough to Barton. I would not have wished even hints of that pain on the greatest of my enemies.”

 

“But what happened, how did you get out?” The Captain was listening, but he was cautious, like he was afraid to ask. Then again, Loki had told him where the majority of his wounds had come from when he arrived here. And that meant that things could only get worse. And they did. But Loki took pity on the Captain, and resolved to keep the details as low as he could.

 

“My magic. It was bound, but through it all I could feel the ebb and rise of it, feel it thrumming in me. It healed me, but I couldn’t use it to lash out. I thought, when my resolve cracked, I would be transported away, probably back to Asgard, where I would likely be killed for daring to show my face after being banished. Instead-- and I had no control of this; it was a snap, much like you might pass out from pain-- my seidhr snapped, and transported my family-- it brought the king and prince-- to me. I had felt safe with Thor and Odin. So it brought safety to me. I-- I would never have.” He stopped himself, realizing his voice had climbed in pitch and his muscles were taut with anxiety. He was shaking and his chest felt tight. Breath fought to come, and its lack of readiness made him panic all the more. He wheezed, his carefully tamped down fears surfacing again, and he felt like he was falling, his vision narrowing as blackness crept in. He was going to wake up and all of this was going to be just another of the potential paths, he was still there, he was--

 

“Loki!” It was a worried whine, barely at the edge of his consciousness. He was falling into the dark, the impenetrable dark he’d fallen through when he let go, when he fell from the bifrost. “Loki.” This time the voice was harder, the Captain’s commanding voice, and it broke through the fog that had descended over his mind. He blinked, shuddered, and reopened his eyes to see the world he’d been in before, exactly as it was. Not Thanos, not The Other, nor any of their minions.

He drew in a raspy, shaking breath, and Rogers crouched down, gently capturing his face between his fingers.

“Deep breath. And again. Look at me. You here?”

 

“I’m--” it came out as a croak, and he shifted his eyes to the side and cleared his throat. “Sorry.” He finished in a whisper, feeling laid altogether too bare, more than he’d intended, and every muscle ached, but his mind was already racing.

 

“I’m gonna get you a drink, hang on a minute.” The Captain stood to walk away and Loki saw his chance. He manufactured a whimper, then called out to The Captain’s back.

 

“Please! Don’t, I’m sorry!”

 

Rogers turned, clearly surprised and worried, and Loki felt a tiny seed of victory that helped to wash down his panic.

 

“I’m sorry, I’ll tell you whatever you want, I’m sorry.” He was babbling now, doing a good job of it. “It was my fault, all of it, I did this, I lied, Don’t--”

The Captain crossed the room with only a couple of long strides, returning far faster than he’d walked away.

 

“Loki what is it, what are you talking about?”

“Don’t let them have me, I can’t… I can’t any more I’m sorry.” He didn’t stop for a breath, but despite the rising panic of his words, his heart rate was actually slowing. He was in control now, things were moving the way he wanted them to.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Loki closed his eyes and turned his face away, tensing as if expecting a blow. Rogers exhaled slowly.

“Loki. I need you to calm down. I won’t go anywhere if you don’t want, I’m not sending you anywhere, or giving you up. Take a deep breath and relax. You’re safe now, soldier.”

 

Loki slitted his eyes open and stole a glance at The Captain’s face, which registered mainly shock at the slip. He was treating him now like one of his men, someone the Captain was meant to be taking care of. The protective streak was deeply rooted now. Good.

Loki took the deep breath, allowed his eyes to slide back to Rogers’s face.

 

“Captain? I know-- I know you can’t.” He flexed his wrists and hands, rattling his bindings, and blew out a harsh breath. “Would you just…” He bit his lip, dragging his eyes away, nearly coquettish. Playing shy about his request. “I just need something to… to ground me. I. I spent a lot of time.” He tugged at his wrists again, then sighed. “I’m being daft, I’m sorry. It’ll pass. Sorry you had to--”

He broke off as the Captain reached up and wordlessly snapped the chains binding Loki to his bed.

 

Loki sat up slowly, careful not to alarm The Captain, not now that he had built up his pity, his trust, so far. He reached out and up, held his hand out as if to grasp That Captain’s arm, then hesitated. He made himself look afraid, wordlessly asking permission from Rogers.

“What’s wrong?” He was so patient, so heart wrenchingly good that Loki almost felt bad for deceiving him. Almost.

“If I touch you and you aren’t real… if all of this is just one more strain, one more world for me to see while my body heals… then what comes next is pain beyond my imagining, and I… I can’t.” He sucked his lower lip into his mouth and dropped his head into his hands.

 

“Steve, what’s going on? His heart monitor went-- how did he get free?” The Widow’s voice came from the doorway, her hand drifting to her wrist and the weapon that coiled there, and Steve reached in to take Loki’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Loki had a panic attack, PTSD. I know you’ve seen it before. I’m going to settle him and then I need to talk to Director Fury, and anyone else in charge of making decisions about Loki’s future. Do you think you can arrange that for me?” The Captain’s confident voice came now, and Loki found himself leaning into both the touch and the sound, and was shocked to find it was only partially for Romanov’s benefit.

“I’ll see what I can do. They’re not going to be happy, Steve.” She warned, her eyes darting between the two of them before she pivoted efficiently and left.

 

“Please, Rogers. I should tell you. You should know-- Odin watched. He made him and Thor a protective sphere, and they watched the torture. Thor tried to stop it, but Odin… I think… I think he found it just. I think he enjoyed it.” Loki sucked air in between his teeth, his shaking not at all feigned as he grasped at Rogers’s hand.

“Loki, you don’t have to--”

“I do. Let me finish it. Let me get it out. Let it be done.” He cleared his throat and looked down, afraid again of the Captain’s sympathetic face. He couldn’t afford to get choked up now.

 

“When he grew bored, when he had had enough, he called Heimdall and commanded that they be brought home. I don’t-- I don’t know if he intended to leave me behind. I can only hope not. Or.. maybe I don’t know what to hope.” He let out a mirthless little laugh.

“When we came back, I was placed in a questioning chair. It… if you don’t answer, if you try to sleep, if your attention wanders, pain. And I told him everything I could, everything he needed to know. I watched as Thor’s heart hardened to me. And then they left, left me in the chair, and I… I couldn’t rest. I couldn’t heal.”

He couldn’t calm the shaking, not anymore. He gave up trying.

“They went to war. And they won, I don’t know how. But all of my problems, all of my debts, wiped clean by the hand of Odin. I’d be grateful, if I could. They came back, though, and I was pulled before the court.”

This was the worst of it. Not from Rogers’s point of view, he was sure, but that was what made it harder.

“I was thrown, weak, bleeding, broken already, before the people I had grown up trying to impress, before the faces of those I had been told I would some day lead. And I was exposed for what I truly am. Odin let drop my glamors, and they saw before them… a monster.” He ran a hand over his face, remembering the collective intake from the crowd, followed by the clamouring.

“Odin called forth his men and ordered that I be permanently marred, Ordered that I should carry the marks of my shame so that no matter how I tried to hide it, I would never again pass as an Aesir, a God, or a man. He ordered me stripped and, using Gungnir, he carved the Frost Giant’s birth lines into my back.”

 

Rogers brought his hand up to rest heavily on Loki’s shoulder, the gesture surprisingly comforting despite everything.

 

“When it was done, my glamors fell back in place, and I was released. I was left with a choice-- to run, naked and alone, bleeding and afraid, through the streets of Asgard, to be beaten and whipped and shamed by the people who felt betrayed by my pretense. As though I had had a choice.” He paused. “Captain, I am not proud. I had become… something altogether feral. I had been crushed beneath one boot too many, been prey for too long. I lashed out in the only way I knew. I… I killed around a dozen Einherjar, swaying on my feet in my-- in Odin’s throne room, I painted the walls with blood. I don’t know what I hoped to gain. But all that I did was bring more pain upon myself. Odin stabbed into me with Gungnir. The remainder of his guards fell upon me, and the great spear was wrenched from his hands. That must have been when it was broken. The next thing I knew, Odin was calling an end to the savagery. But that was hardly the end of the ordeal.”

He sucked in air, reminding himself that it was done, it was over now. He pressed the rising blackness back behind his eyes.

“I imagine you know the rest. Thor waded through the crowd to lift me back to my feet, to drag me before the King, and force me to my knees. My back was on display for them all when Odin bound my powers. I went from weak and injured to helpless, and from helpless to angry. I wanted death, then. It would put an end to this suffering, to this humiliation. Make it so that none could ever hurt me again. I taunted him. I asked if it made him feel grander, to do harm to an unarmed man. And he told me to hold my tongue, or he would make me just that-- a mere man. But I didn’t listen. I turned to Thor and asked him what was to become of me, his brother.” The word stung his tongue, and the sarcasm made him feel as though he had expelled it forcibly from his lips. “I asked him if he would sleep well, knowing that this was how his father could treat a man he’d called son.” He was exhausted now from his shaking. But he was almost done.

“Thor struck me. Told me that I had never been a son to Odin, that I did not deserve to claim it. Odin stripped me of my years, my longevity, and then, to be sure that I could no more pollute his kingdom or any other with my lies, ordered that my lips be sewn shut. Thor did it. They brough him the thread and all the while Odin stood over us, like he had when we were boys with nightmares. And he whispered spells of binding, tied my voice into the thread, tightened its hold over me. And sealed it with the only thing that could break my spirit further-- an order that none but those who would meet Odin’s approval should be able to undo the stitches. This was, I knew, the ultimate punishment for me. I was stricken with the butt of the spear, and when I woke up…” He spread his hands.

“Now you know. It was my fault. I endangered the King and heir, I played upon his fury and brought it down upon myself. I have failed, as all of the lives I was shown had suggested I would. And now here I am. And I am undeserving of your kindness, you care… and your pity.”

He finished and felt completely drained, slumping down with his arms between his knees.

“So you see, I fear you have summoned your council too hastily. I deserve anything they would do to me, and then some.”

“Everybody messes up. Yours is a bigger scale than most, but then so was--” He heard Rogers swallow. “I’m going to talk to them. I need you to stay here. No one will come in. Please, just trust me. I’m going to do everything I can for you.” The honesty that rang in his voice was so earnest that Loki found himself raising his eyes.

He didn’t know any more how much was acting, how much was true faith, true relief.

“I am glad, Captain, that it was you who found me. I would be lost without you.” He gave him a watery smile and squeezed his hand once more before releasing the man.

Rogers helped him into his bed, helped him to wrap the blankets around his shaking shoulders, and even smoothed his hair.

“I promise I will be the one to tell you how it turns out, no matter what. Okay?”

Loki hummed, the weight of his exhaustion settling over him. He was not well enough for such excitement yet. He was not well enough to reply. He slid into the darkness, and hoped things would, for this once, turn in his favor.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated and partially in thanks to Azha, who is, as always, my psychological consultant, and actually helped write the talk therapy scenes.

“He is not a stray puppy, Rogers. You cannot just tell me you promise to clean up after him, and expect that to be that. He killed hundreds of people, started us on the path to not one, but probably all of the intergalactic wars this planet will ever face, and you want to play One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest with him?” Fury was glaring from his one good eye out over the tented fingers of both of his hands.

“Sorry, I… don’t understand that reference.” Steve felt himself flushing, both annoyed with the tone and the argument, and embarrassed about being once again on the outside of regular pop culture. 

“Point is, Cap, one, he’s dangerous, and two, why should we put him up in some cushy padded cell? We have a chance here to make a point that will be heard across the skies: You don’t mess with Earth.” He expected that argument from Natasha, not Tony. 

“He’s not dangerous. He’s no stronger than you without a suit-- probably less so, since he’s just a prince, no workshop muscles. He’s got no power of his own, he didn’t even have enough to heal without the help from that bit of metal we pulled out of him.” 

Bruce grumbled a bit about not having had the opportunity to examine it in the background, but Steve ignored it. 

“And he’s… you’ve read my report. You could see some of what he’s been through. Does any of that sound like justice to you? And, if we’re just the third world to beat up on the ex bully, what kind of statement are we really making? ‘We needed the big kids to rough him up first’? Besides, who’s going to hear about it or care? Asgard certainly doesn’t seem to, and that’s our main and closest contact.” 

“So you think the best thing for him, for Earth, for us, is to put him in a mental rehabilitation clinic?” Natasha spoke evenly and quietly, but with total control. 

“Yeah. I do.” He squared his jaw. “I think he’s just as lost as he seems, and probably more than that. Yeah, he’s not truthful. But what he is hiding… I think there’s more to it than just more evil.” 

“So you’re saying you actually believe what he’s fed you?” Tony sounded exasperated, like he did every time he accused Steve of being too soft, too much of a goody goody. 

“I still hear him screaming in my sleep sometimes.” Clint said. He was drawing with the moisture his water glass had left on the high polished onyx table, not meeting anyone’s eyes. His words were just as quiet as Natasha’s, but with none of the control. It was a statement, not a complaint, and when the silence that was the group’s reaction to that stretched on, he looked up.  
“I don’t trust him, and I have less reason than most to believe him. But the things I saw done to him… sounds like what he said, and worse. We just kill bad guys. This… killing him would have been nicer. Might still be.” Clint was good at being serious, but that was grim, even for him.

Steve turned back to face Fury, one brow raised in challenge.  
“I can’t back down on this one, and I think you know you shouldn’t ask me to. Bucky’s getting better slowly but surely, and most of his trauma is mental. Besides, if you lock Loki up, he won’t make a full recovery. He needs physical therapy, he needs people who will keep an eye on him. If you were ever going to make a show of him, save it. Show him off when he’s walking, the perfect example of an about face, the good that we can do… how strong kindness can be.” Steve was reaching now, stretching into areas he knew Fury thought were soft, and he needed to reel it back in. “I know it goes against all of your training, Sir, but I’d like to remind you who you were serving, then.” 

Fury pursed his lips and sighed, then pushed up on the table and stood, his fist flat against the surface as he made his decision.

“If you aren’t training or running missions, I want you at that rehab. If he hurts one nurse, if we see one green spark, I’m gonna send his ass miles under the ground, and no one is ever going to hear the name Loki ever again. We clear?”

Steve narrowed his eyes, but still snapped a salute.  
“Perfectly, Sir.” 

“The rest of you? I expect visitations. I want second opinions, I want write ups. Loki doesn’t sneeze in your presence without me hearing about it. Is THAT clear?”  
“Ah, Nick,” Tony started in, “Hate to be the dissenter in the crew, but what are we hoping to gain from this? Either he’s playing us, and we won’t know until we’re standing neck deep in rubble, telling Spangles I told you so-- or he’s been neutralized, and we aren’t going to get anything from him anyway.” 

“Asgard left him alive, I want to know why. Plus, we only get Thor sometimes, sounds like Loki is gonna be a permanent resident. Get him talking, learn all you can about as many worlds as he’s been to. We may not be ready for travel, but thanks to him, we have to be ready to fight anything that thinks we’re gonna lay down and play ant for them.” 

“At some point, I’m going to want to go back to Asgard, too, Sir.” Steve clencehed his hands, knuckles going bright white. “I know what they did now, according to Loki, but not why. And something just isn’t clicking yet.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, soldier. For now, you get your way. I want you in the transport when he’s moved, and if anything goes wrong, I am holding you personally responsible.” Fury pointed at him, his threat blatant. “Dismissed.” He finished, and the Avengers moved to the door. 

Natasha shoulder checked him on the way out.  
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” She murmured. 

“Yeah.” He said to her retreating back, “Me too.”

***  
“Everyone working in the home has been cleared by S.H.I.E.L.D. and none of them are going to tell anyone that you’re there. You’ll be safe, and secure, and no one from the outside is going to bother you, save myself and the other Avengers. At first it’ll be a little bit… secluded, until you’ve been evaluated, and they feel comfortable letting you be around the other patients,” The Captain told him, seated next to him in the back of a black windowed SUV. They were driving through the city, Loki restrained despite Rogers’s protests, the wheeled seat they had been transporting him in folded up behind their seats, and it seemed the good Captain was more worried about this change than Loki was. 

He’d watched as the buildings around them shrank and then faded from view, and green overtook the palette out the windows. It was no short jaunt, this trip, and he would have loved to have just enough power to take them there in the spare moments it would require of him, rather than this tedium. At least the roads here were smoother than those of other places he’d been in this sort of transport before. Still. 

He found his eyes turning from the scenery to observe The Captain, who was still so tense, in comparison to himself. Then again, Loki at least knew he wasn’t going to attempt to be violent. The Captain had no such guarantees. But, just the same, it was true.

Maybe because part of him didn’t care. These people had become so enamored with their merciful ideals, it would be considered wrong to punish him. Or that was what Captain America was making him believe. There would always be those driven by things more base, more animal. The need for revenge is a strong one, and he would be unsurprised if his death ultimately came at the hands of some nothing Midgardian, moved to action by his loyalty to his realm. 

He’d read enough lore to know that that was all too often how stories like his own tended to end. With a whimper, not a bang. 

For now, though, he was going to be allowed the time he needed to heal, to grow to understand this new, weaker form. He looked out the window as they drove, unsure when he’d next have the chance to be this close to the world at large.  
“I am sure it will be fine. I needn’t remind you that I am accustomed to far worse.”

Rogers went silent for a long moment before speaking softly.  
“I’m doing the best I can for you, Loki. I know everything is difficult for you now, but I’m hoping things will get better. You just have to be willing to work with us to make it happen.” 

“I am not unwilling, nor ungrateful.” Loki said firmly. “Truly.” 

They pulled at last into the drive, the wheels rattling as they transitioned from the smooth asphalt to the bricks that paved the way up to the house.  
And it was a house, an old manor house, by the looks of it, converted for this use some time ago-- long enough at least to have added a very modern looking sunroom with green tinted windows. Loki realized that, like the windows on the car, those inside would be able to see out, but no one could see in. 

As he was lifted out of the car and pushed into a wheelchair by the three attendants, he felt eyes on him. And not just Rogers’. He wondered if it wasn’t Rogers’s friend-not-friend, watching them. 

The thought left his mind when he was wheeled up the ramp that circumnavigated the stairs into the foyer.  
He sat as straight as he could, despite the relative weakness of the muscles in his side, and tried to hold his head high, though he knew that at the very least some of the people inside would be happy to see him so lowered. 

They did not stop when they reached the registration desk. It seemed everyone knew he would be coming. Instead, the woman behind the glass pressed a button, unlocking the door with a loud buzz and a wave that they should proceed.

He didn’t get much of a chance to look around, at the brisk rate he was being pushed to his next holding cell. Not that he suspected there would be much to see. A few times he did make out faces pressed to glass, gawping like fish in a pond. He kept his eyes forward and his head high. Give those who look something to see. He pressed a small smirk onto his face. Let them wonder. 

“This is it,” He heard the Captain say from behind him. He was abruptly pulled up to a stop, jarring him in his chair, and he licked his lips, worrying the pinhole scars that stood out there. 

One of his handlers opened the door, and he was wheeled in. 

It wasn’t a hospital room, he would say that much for it. There was a desk, upon which a small bookshelf sat, sparsely populated. Paper and colorful wax sticks sat in a basket, neatly organized, on the desk’s surface, and on the wall was a mounted screen, a television. It was blessedly devoid of blinking and bleeping machines, though grating in the wall and ceiling suggested the possibility of faceless commands being called out to him at some point in the future.  
There was a bed, of course, and an attached bathroom. And everything was in beiges, blues, and greys. No more sterile white, and Loki thought he may weep for joy just because of that. 

“Can you think of anything you need, right off the bat?” Rogers asked. 

“You mean aside from the remainder of my immortal years, my powers, my fully functioning body…?”  
He registered the flash of resignation that settled, however briefly, on The Captain’s face, and quickly tried to amend it.  
“Given my quarters up until this point, Captain, this is positively luxurious. Thank you.” He mustered as much sincerity as he could. 

Rogers smiled, relieved.  
“I’m going to go talk to the people who run this place, and then I have to head back to New York, okay? I’ll be back to visit as soon as I can. Just go ahead and get settled in, let the staff get used to you and used to the fact that you aren’t going to um.” He waved his hands around, clearly lacking the words. 

“Ensorcell them? Grind them beneath my feet? Little enough chance of that, Captain. You need not concern yourself. I will look forward to our little talks, though.” He made sure to turn away, dismissing The Captain despite the rising wave of emotion in his chest. 

It had been a long drive north. How often, exactly, would Rogers want to make that trip? 

He waited until Rogers and the orderlies were gone, then began attempting to study the room. His first impulse was to stand to do so, but his legs were not ready for that just yet. He reached out and grasped the blankets of the bed, using them to drag himself and the chair closer to it. 

By the time he had circumnavigated the edge of the bed, his arms ached and he was exhausted.

He sat back in his seat and considered what that meant; how long he would have to be here for recovery. He wasn’t used to the healing times of humans, couldn’t calculate. It felt like having no end in sight, and it made him anxious. 

He focused on calming himself, sitting as still as he could and taking deep breaths while letting his mind be as empty as possible.  
He was still meditating when the orderly brought him his evening meal, and he engaged with the woman as little as possible. For all he knew Amy was a perfectly lovely girl… but he was busy trying not to panic about being alone, somewhere far removed from all he knew. It felt like being in his cell in Asgard all over again, only this time there was no Frigga to help him keep his sanity.

Two of them came back and tucked him into his bed, leaving the chair beside it. He didn’t look at them, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the door that they had left open behind them, which lay open as if mocking him. 

Through it, though, he saw someone else in a wheelchair, moving with ease, without being pushed. Using her arms to pull on the upper rims of the wheel, propelling herself forward. And he felt like an idiot for not having thought of it himself. 

He spent the next day practicing. 

On the third day of his residence, his third day with only the occasional company of caregivers making their rounds, he had settled into an understanding of his schedule. He'd learned quickly enough to operate his chair, using his arms to move himself around the small area. His side didn't hurt when he did so, but he felt weak, and had to pause often.

He tried a few times to rise, but each attempt was short lived and resulted in his ending up back in the chair, or on one memorable occasion, flopping ungracefully onto the bed and having to nudge the chair into position with his arms and legs.

If he weren't raised not to feel embarrassment, he was sure he would be flustered at the likelihood that some of the agents here were spying on him, and had seen his mishap.

He read through the books, dull stories of Midgardian times gone by, and used the crayons to sketch out rough shapes, intentionally not of anything in particular. He filled a page with as intricate of details as he could manage, until it seemed he had drawn nothing more than a maze comprised of calligraphic ornamentation.

The tedium suddenly broke, though, when two of the orderlies rapped on his door and came in with hardly a pause.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” He asked politely, though he was well aware that he had very little option one way or another. Still, just their presence made him uneasy. What if they were operating outside of their orders, angry about his attempts on their world, and had come to kill him?

“We're going to take you to your assessment meeting now.” One explained, while the other leaned down and cuffed one of Loki's legs to his chair's stirrups.

“I see.” was all he said, allowing them to do what they needed without a fuss. He was curious, really, he told himself, and besides-- what was the worst they could do to him?

Once he had been secured to their satisfaction, he was taken out of his room and wheeled back down the hallway he'd been brought there by.

They turned shortly before the reception area, and knocked-- much more respectfully, he noticed-- on a door with a name plaque beside it. Dr. Talia Rivera, it read.

A few moments later, the door swung open as the doctor greeted them. Loki took in as much information as he could from her appearance-- clean, neat. Very professionally composed. Early thirties, perhaps, her dark hair pulled back away from her smiling face as she greeted her most recent patient with a simple, "Hello, please come in."  
She stepped aside, leaving the door open for the orderlies to move him in after her. 

The room was wide and spacious, a row of windows facing out and bathing the interior in warm light. An elegant mahogany desk sat off to the right, a set of comfortable chairs and a couch to the right, though one of the chairs seemed to have been moved out of place to open up room. 

"I do hope your stay here has been at least somewhat comfortable so far?" she remarked, tone smooth and warm as she strode towards the sitting area and waited for the orderlies and Loki to follow suit. The orderlies pushed him to sit across from her and he felt his wheel being locked into place with the casual flick of a foot.

“In light of recent accommodations that I've been privy to, this is... sufficient.” He informed her with an almost brittle reign on his sarcasm, trying to keep himself as bland as possible until he understood the role he was meant to be playing, here.

He tried to gauge what sort of woman she was. She had wide lips that seemed inclined to smiling, if the lines by the sides of her mouth and at the corners of her eyes were anything to go by. She wasn't old enough for them to have developed fully into wrinkles, but they were there just the same. Should he appeal to her with his wit and humor?  
He felt wrung dry of it just at the moment, so he hoped not.

Her brows, though, were singularly expressive, just from what he had seen of her so far. Perhaps they could be used as a tell for the emotions under her words. He made note to be aware of them.

“So what, if I may ask, is the intent of today's meeting?” He stalwartly ignored the men who had brought him here, unsure if they would be staying for her safety, or if their hovering was for some other reason.

“We like to ensure that each patient feels sufficiently comfortable within our facilities and among the other patients. I was hoping we could simply… talk,” she replied as she seated herself, before glancing up at the orderlies for a beat of consideration. “Thank you, gentlemen,” she added in dismissal after a moment. 

Loki was sure the house was equipped with security enough to bring assistance pouring in if he so much as breathed at her threateningly. But this suited him fine just the same; less people for him to perform for.

“Mm.” he hummed. “And I suppose you've a checklist of subjects you'd like to cover? Motivation, intent... abilities?” He leaned back in his chair and turned his head to watch the men leave. “I am perfectly harmless at present, I assure you.” He added, feigning wide eyed innocence.

"Well certainly that's of interest to us, but why discuss what can be easily confirmed with a look at your file?" Her smile didn't waver."I'm more interested in your ability to form and maintain interpersonal relationships, to be honest. But you don't seem to have many of those."

He held his mild expression in place, but internally his hackles raised.  
“I can't imagine what you mean. I have a marvelous relationship with my family. Barton and I practically finish one another's sentences, and Stark and I have such a glorious range of nicknames for one another-- truly, who could ask for more?”

Her hands came to rest lightly in her lap and she tucked one ankle behind the other, shoulders relaxed and demeanor open, as her years of training must have taught her. She looked as though she was preparing herself for a challenge, and he wondered if that was what he was to her. "It must be difficult to find yourself vulnerable in what amounts to enemy territory," she prompted. The sympathy in her voice seemed sincere. He distrusted it. "You mentioned Stark and Barton-- Tony Stark and Clint Barton, I presume? Have you come in regular contact with anyone else since you lost your abilities?"

“There is, of course, a difference between 'harmless' and 'vulnerable.” He pointed out, seizing on the word. She didn't ruffle, and already he disliked that. She reminded him of his M—of Frigga, so collected, so in control. So caring.  
“Additionally, my 'abilities' as you call them, were not 'lost', they were stripped from me in retribution. And am I in enemy territory, Ms. Rivera? I was under the impression you wanted us to be friends.” He smiled at her, ignoring the discomfort of the tug against his new scar tissue. He sounded positively chipper, and it felt just like aping for Frigga after being caught sneaking around.

“An erroneous impression, I’m afraid,” she informed him matter-of-factly with a small shake of her head, unfolding her hands and laying them on the armrests of her chair as she sat back. “I’m of much better help to you as clinician than as a friend. There are, of course, people who consider you a threat still, even in your current situation. My job is to convince them that you are not a threat to those in here seeking to get better.” She wasn’t fooled by his evasion, he could tell, but she seemed willing to follow its path… for now.

“And what good would harming any of these people do me? Ordinarily I would say they were too insignificant for me to bother, but given that I am now equally insignificant... at the very least any act of violence on my part would gain me nothing.” He pursed his lips, then leveled his eyes directly at hers. “I am not a good man, and will not attempt to convince you otherwise, but I am a strategist, a logician, and above all else, intelligent. I know when actions will and will not serve me.”  
He did not mind that she didn't wish to become friendly. He shared that wish, himself.  
Really, all he wanted now was to be back in his room, and for Rogers to visit as he'd said he would.

The breath she released once he finished speaking was closer to contemplative sigh, blinking away from his gaze a moment later to glance towards the clock on the wall behind him. He saw the shift in her attention, and only then registered that it was the first time she’d pulled it away from him. 

“I believe that’s all for today. I’ve scheduled our next appointment for the day after tomorrow. Now that all the pleasantries are out of the way, I look forward to hearing a bit more about your experiences with the Avengers as of late, next time,” she informed him, a wry edge to her smile as she pressed a button on her gold bracelet to call for the orderlies.

“Mm, yes. I'm sure. Though I imagine you've access to well documented reports about each of those 'experiences'.” He let his mouth shift lopsidedly, feeling somehow that he had won this first encounter. “I suppose I needn't bother assuring you that I'll be here. These goons will see to it.” He gestured to the men as they came through the door in tandem. He kept himself sounding light hearted and amused, though for whose benefit he wasn’t entirely sure. He sat up straight in his chair and allowed them to wheel him out without any fuss.

It wasn't until he was back in his room that he realized that he was no closer to leaving this place than he had been, that even a little more freedom may be worth playing their games. He felt his jaw clenching and hurried to turn his attentions elsewhere, lest his frustration boil to the surface and cause him to do something they might decide was too dangerous.

The following day was back to his being left alone, save for mealtimes and the occasional check in to see to it that he hadn’t escaped or hurt himself. 

He managed to get himself to the bathroom and lift himself on and off of the toilet on day four, and felt disgusted with the part of himself that tried to be proud of the accomplishment. 

“I was King of Asgard!” He whispered harshly to his reflection, trying to glare it into humility. He levered himself up and out of the chair, tossing his front across the counter and angling to be able to put his hands into the sink.

Once washed, he splashed water into his hair, slicking it back out of the way, and then threw handfuls over his face. 

“It’s hardly any wonder Rogers hasn’t been back to see you.” He spoke maliciously to his own face in the mirror, seeing himself fully for the first time since this had all begun.  
“How much more of a disgrace were you when you were broken? Worthless, powerless, deformed little mortal.” He tried it on, exercising the luxury of self loathing that he’d been distracted from by his torture. 

His chest hurt, though, from bearing the majority of his weight, and the counted pressed a sharp line across his sensitive abdomen. He lowered himself back into the chair, and thought on it. 

Four days was longer than Rogers had ever stayed away. Even when he'd gone to Asgard it hadn’t been so long.  
He wondered how much of it was lies-- He’d known there was this chance, that he was being put out of sight and out of mind. But if the rest of this mortal life was to be nothing more that sitting, alone, in a room… this was probably the effect his imprisonment in Asgard was meant to have on him. But where he had stayed for… a month? More perhaps? There, it had taken him only four days to feel the weight of this isolation. 

A wave of emptiness overtook him, and he spent the day staring at page after page in the books he’d been provided, their words falling out of focus while his mind echoed with jeers and reminders that he had no one to blame for this but himself, even as he argued that he could blame everyone but himself. 

 

He didn’t bother eating when they brought food, and he didn’t fight them when he was put to bed, but he lay there, sleepless, tearing himself apart. He dug his fingers into his arms until he had bruises, and waited for the sun to rise on another day. 

Sometime in the night, his ennui had turned to anger, and he felt like he was near to his boiling point. 

When the men came to get him up, cleaned, and dressed-- apparently a phenomenon that was saved for days he had to interact with others-- he lashed out at them, snarling that he could do it, fighting for his own privacy. Fighting to keep his still semi emaciated body out from their prying eyes. 

They placed a chair in the shower for him and stood just outside of the open door, but he at least had the thin plastic drape between him and them, and he tried to be grateful for that small mercy, but the anger spread through him like a poison, turning that gratitude into resentment.

He turned the taps off when he was done and waited for them to come and wrap him in a towel and man handle him back into his chair, then into the room proper, and then into clothing.

He spoke not a word to them and ground his teeth together, ignoring them as much as he could despite their manipulation of his body. 

When he was wheeled to Dr. Rivera’s office, his hair was still leaking drips of cool water down the back of his clothing.

This time, he made no pretense at pleasantries. He simply placed a sneer on his face and waited for her to speak, his arms crossed over himself comfortably.

He watched her take in his body language, watched her own change imperceptibly. She was bracing for the session, already on the defensive, without him even needing to have uttered a word. Good. He had to work to keep the slow smile from spreading over his face.  
He had no doubt she’d been briefed on his turbulent behavior, or perhaps even witnessed it herself, through cameras in his room. He saw her gather herself in, saw the professionalism settle fully in place, and let it, certain he would enjoy destroying that mask more if he could do so thoroughly.  
“So how are you feeling?” she asked, her expression neutral as she sat back.

He snorted incredulously, and affixed a sweet smile on his face.  
“Oh, I'm doing gloriously. Everything is exactly the way it should be, isn't it? I'm here, where I belong, where I can't hurt anyone and where I won't ever grow beyond this chair, these walls…” He could feel the hopelessness looming, and fought it down, turning it around on her. “But tell me, did our last session go as you wanted it to?” He tilted his head, making a show of looking her up and down. “Did you get what you wanted out of me? Or did you send a message to your superiors, explaining that I am a lost cause?” He enunciated clearly, his words sharp, biting, meant to sting, all while he smiled prettily across at her.

“If I thought you were a lost cause, we wouldn’t be sitting here,” she answered, her words measured. “Our last session was merely about introductions, not a whole lot to write home about. Do you think you’re a lost cause?”

“Oh no...” He said quietly, gaining a measure of her. “No, you see, I think you want to make this about me, when really, we ought to be talking about you. It occurs that you haven't told me what it is you stand to gain from this. Tell me, what is it you are hoping for? A pat on the head from dear Director Fury? A gold star on a certificate for a job well done? Or something a little more flashy, perhaps. Do you plan to spread your news to the world, proclaim to the very sky that it was you, the woman who tamed Loki? And how many did you beat out for the honor, hmm? What made them think you of all people were worthy of me? Who did you sleep with for the opportunity?” He was as snide and demeaning as he could be, the flow of the questions meant to humiliate and challenge, his tone once known for bringing scullery maids to tears.

Anger flashes in her eyes for an instant, and he knows something he said found its mark. Good. He hoped she would lash out at him, would tell him something of what he was meant to be doing here...  
She leaned forward slowly, elbows resting on her thighs and her gaze fixed on Loki. 

“There are people I could be helping who want my help. Worthy of you? Honor? If you think I would sit through this vitriol for a gold star and a pat on the head, then we have a lot of work to do,” she said quietly. “I know you don’t like me. Hell, you probably don’t like anyone. And why should you, when you’ve been left here, locked up and alone while people poke at you with a stick and try to figure out how you work.”  
He appreciated her technique, at least. Trying to make it sound like she was on his team, even while including herself with his opponents. If less were at stake, he would applaud.

“And why is that, hmm? When you wrote your report on our session, was there a special note for Captain America, telling him not to worry about promises he made? Telling him that I wasn't worth the trip, that I had nothing to say to him?” He shifted his arms where they crossed, moving to wrap them further around him rather than across him. He wanted to look proud, haughty, but he was dancing on frayed nerves. “Just because I am not jumping to spill my inner workings to you does not mean that I won’t speak to anyone else. Or perhaps I shouldn’t. Perhaps I ought to refuse to speak to anyone until The Good Captain keeps his promise. His end of the bargain. He was meant to come back.” He hated how his voice strained and cracked at the end there, and he shifted his eyes away, his jaw thrust angrily forward while he clamped his teeth firmly shut.

She watched him quietly for a moment, and if she was surprised at all by the revealing outburst, it didn’t show. Then she sat back again, reached for the tablet resting on the small table next to her chair, and after a few swipes across the screen she typed away a quick note. 

“Steve Rogers, he promised to visit? I saw his name was on the clearance list, though I wasn’t aware you two were friends,” she remarked. Her voice was as intentionally bland and mild as her face.

“Did I say that?” He snapped, trying to recover from his unintentional falter. “No one said we were friends. I said we had a bargain. I'm meant to concede to this confinement, and he was meant to return. He hasn't though. And I tire of this place, this... chair. I thought I was meant to be learning to walk again. I see two men five times a day, and only just today have I been washed today in preparation of being in your presence. So I will ask you again: Is my isolation your doing? Or has Rogers simply reneged on his word?” He gripped his armrests, leaning forward towards her. “Either way, I won't be left here alone. I won't spend what few days I have rereading Moby Dick.” He narrowed his eyes, challenging her to tell him otherwise.

She set the tablet down, her attention on him once more. 

“No one has seen the report I made for our last visit, and there was nothing in there concerning Steve Rogers, so no. It’s not my doing. Perhaps the Captain is tied up on a mission. I can ask, if you’d like?” She offered. “Meanwhile, your physical therapy can only begin once you’ve been cleared as co-operative and stable. That means eating your meals, getting some semblance of sleep regularly, and being polite, if not respectful towards the specialists working with you. And if you’re tired of Moby Dick, I’m sure we can find something else for you to read.”  
He saw her fingers twitch towards her alert bracelet and settled back in his chair, loathe for this meeting to end just when they seemed to be getting somewhere.

“Please do not patronize me, Doctor Rivera.” He grit out, his words polite, if not necessarily his tone. “Do not act as though my every problem can be solved by your tapping on your tiny screen. I have lost the majority of my life, my strength, my health, my standing, my power, my use... You cannot make everything better by bringing me a new book. And as far as my politeness... Have I not been? Until today, I have been a model example of good behavior, but now, as ever, the only way to get definitive answers is by acting out. I am here because your Captain wants me here, I behave because he asked me to, and I have nothing else holding me to it than my gratitude and the debt I owe him for my life. But that will not tide me over for long, and I grow tired of being ignored.”

“Oh you can snap at me all you want, that’s practically part of my job description at this point,” she replied lightly. “It’s just a matter of making sure no one else takes the brunt of your temper. I can’t fix your life for you, Loki, but I can make it a bit easier in this facility, if you’ll let me. I mentioned interpersonal relationships during our last session; you conveniently neglected to mention Steve Rogers. For someone with so few attachments to anyone, you seem distressed at the thought of him abandoning you here.”

He felt his lips thinning s he pressed them together, and tried to smooth the irritation from his face. He was out of practice-- fear and pain had made him complacent, and he ought to be harder to see through than this. He cleared his throat.

“You have files of my time on your world. I did not think it necessary to retread the subject of what they contain. Surely you will have noticed by now that the majority of information on me has been collected by Rogers. As I said, I owe him my life. He interceded with your tribunal on my behalf, and so twice now it is because of him that I am not dead. Insofar as abandonment-- can you truly blame me? As you have pointed out, I am very much alone. At least before, I might wake up with one of your heroes standing over me, waiting to demand answers the moment I opened my eyes. Here, there is only ever a man with your dull human food, a man to take me in to relieve myself, or a man waiting to put me to bed. I lack the stimulation that even Asgard afforded me in my cell. Unless your intent in my imprisonment is to drive me mad, it would seem that without Rogers around, the mercy of your people runs low.” Again, it was a challenge. He didn't have Rogers's ability to draw out the best in people,but he could attempt to remind her of it. He felt brought low for that, too, but he hadn’t been given any opportunity to talk his way into better conditions before now.

She breathed out a quiet hum, seeming to turn something over in her mind for a moment or two. “A probationary period might not hurt,” she mused, mostly speaking to herself now. “I can’t have you moved out of the isolation wing, not yet, but I can order them to take you out to the common area once a day, under supervision. Give you some breathing room. As for Rogers… the best I can do is let him know that you inquired after him.” 

He scowled, but said nothing more about Rogers. He wasn't going to give her more cause to think him distressed at The Captain's absence, and he didn't doubt that she was limited in her range of options for aiding. Wouldn't that be just the insult on the injury, putting him in a low priority place. Though, to be fair, much of the time he'd spent here did seem to lend itself to that impression. He was truly no threat to this world, and they were treating him as such.  
He almost would rather have been sentenced as the monster he was-- at least there was some honor in that.  
“And in your common room, whom do you suppose I would interact with? I was under the impression that recovering criminals and superbeings were held here until they could function in society. And you think that their influence on me or mine on them will somehow help?” He scoffed. “It does feel, I'll admit, more than a little like handing a sword to a child. Or is it some kind of test? Will I be punished for speaking to the wrong person, though I know nothing of their crimes?”

“Oh no, if we allowed everyone out into the same room at the same time, the results would be catastrophic,” she acknowledges. “You’ll be around people who have been specifically cleared for interaction with you. There won’t be many of them at first, so you won’t have to worry about speaking to the ‘wrong person’. But you’re right, this is a test, and more of the facility will be open to you if you pass. You are, of course, welcome to decline.”

“That wouldn't be very cooperative of me, would it?” He asked sweetly, dropping his chin to smile at her from under lowered brows.  
He had misgivings, of course. Mainly in the form of wondering how he would defend himself against whatever cretins they may unleash upon him, but then... perhaps those orderlies would prove to be good for something other than decoration after all. And if the worst should happen, well. It would be fitting, wouldn't it, for Loki to end with a whimper, just like he'd been brought into the world.  
“I will try your common room. When, do you suppose, should I expect to be brought before my peers?”

“I’ll arrange for you to be taken out tomorrow at noon,” she informed him with a smile. “You and the others will have lunch early so that your time will be freed up. Our next session will be the day after that and I look forward to hearing about the experience.” Her hand went to her bracelet, alerting the orderlies that their session for the day was over. “Ah, and please make an effort to eat?”

“I think we're out of time for this session.” He told her quietly, intentionally clamming up when the orderlies came in. “But we shall see.” He added, lest the promised freedom be retracted for something so foolish as his being unused to this pathetic body's needs.  
“Until then, Dr. Rivera.” He called back to her as he was wheeled out. It was, for now, the closest she would get to a thank you from him.

The next day his food came early, as promised, and he was asked if he would like to bathe. He supposed at least Rivera had followed through with some of his requests. Moby Dick still taunted him from its place on the shelf, but he could let that pass if he had the opportunity to leave this room for something other than psychological poking. 

Less than half an hour after he gulped down the soggy green mush that stood in for sustenance, he was collected and wheeled out to a large room. There were only a handful of others there, and laid out were tables with puzzles, a television with animation flashing across it in vibrant hues, a cabinet upon which were stacked boxes with titles along their sides, cards, dice… it appeared to be a gaming room of sorts. Centered at the opposite side from the door was a piano, a great black glossy behemoth, and piled on it was a box of what looked like childrens’ musical instruments.They did not seem to be a popular pick for amusement. More’s the pity; it had been too long since he heard music. 

Two of the women, one a dark skinned beauty and one fair and plump, were standing at a table where they furiously churned sticks with small skewered figures upon them.  
An older man with a long, narrow face who was balding at the top but retained longer hair below, was watching avidly.  
From the couch in front of the television, a man… Loki thought it was a man, from the dimensions, turned to look at him. Again, he thought he turned to look at him. The man had no face at all. He appeared to be the white of a cloud, save for a single large circle of black that took up the majority of the front of his head. It wasn’t simply a color, either, but rather the sort of darkness Loki could distantly remember falling through, a lifetime and a half ago.  
Loki looked away, disturbed. 

There was a fiercely beautiful woman with short hair, dark brown to nearly black, who made no secret of taking his measure, but almost as soon as he registered that was what she was doing, she had dismissed him and turned her attention back to the game of chess currently in progress, where her partner, a muscular and attractive black man with a prosthetic leg, had just lifted his hand from his play. 

Loki was unsure where to go, once the orderlies released him. None of the people in the room seemed to be actively threatening, but nor were they friendly. He intended, at first, to simply look out the window, soak in the rays that filtered through the gossamer curtains, but when he approached, a small movement alerted him to one final member of their number, hidden in the shadows.  
He was wedged in the small space between the end on a bookshelf and the outside wall, seated where the light from the windows was completely cut out by the shades, which were pulled to that side. Loki drew up short, feeling suddenly like prey that had just seen the predator’s eyes. 

He didn’t even register the silence that fell when the clicking and shaking sounds from the womens’ sport had ceased. 

“Hey there, new kid. Why don’t you come over here, let me introduce you to Tilda.” A hand closed on his shoulder and he flinched. She took it off immediately. “Sorry ‘bout that. He doesn’t really like to be disturbed.” She explained.  
Loki looked up at her and was reminded of Gunnhilde, wife of Volstagg. Not in girth, for this woman had never had the good fortune to sit at Volstagg’s table, but in demeanor. She seemed kind, but steely. Loki couldn’t help but wonder what it was she had done to warrant her time here. 

“I’m Marsha.” She pressed on through his silence, then gave a small, nervous smile. She backed away, beckoning, as if he were a stray cat to be summoned home. Still, he followed, only daring one backward glance at the man in the corner. 

“Loki.” He introduced himself, when he reached their small party, and the three of them nodded knowingly. 

“My name,” The older man said, drawing himself up and raising his arm into the air with all the aplomb of a trained thespian, “Is Maynard Tiboldt. I prefer ‘The Ringmaster’ but have been informed that titles hold people at bay, and impede my rehabilitation.” He rolled his R’s and added far more time for dramatic pauses than was absolutely necessary. Loki sort of hated him already.  
Marsha seemed like she could tell, or maybe she was just used to peoples’ reactions to Tiboldt. She hastened to intercede. 

“And like I said, this is Tilda.” She gestured at the dark lady, and Tilda nodded politely. 

“Pleased to meet you.” She said. Her voice was low and throaty and reminded Loki of a wood fire. She was quiet, but all but reeked of intelligence. Inversely of Tiboldt, he nearly immediately liked her. 

“I used to be called Volcana.” Marsha said, her eyes darting around his face for any sign of recognition, and looking as though she hoped not to find it. Unfortunately for her, the name did ring familiar. 

“You were a familiar of The Enchantress, were you not?” He had a feeling the words would be unwelcome, and sure enough, she winced.

“Not any more, though.” She hastened to add.

“And you?” He asked, dismissing Marsha for the moment and turning his attention to Tilda. 

“They called me Deadly Nightshade. I guess you could say I was a mastermind, turned mob boss, with ambitions for domination.” She was no braggart; the words were stated as simple fact. 

He merely looked at Tiboldt, who was only too happy to spring into speech.  
“I was the Showrunner of the Circus of Crime, or the Cirque de Nuit for those less savy. I inherited it from my father, and--” 

“He had a machine in his hat that he rigged up to hypnotize people into giving him their money.” The heavily accented voice of the woman near the chess board interrupted, and everyone drew up short. She didn’t turn around, though, or acknowledge them any further, and once she’d moved her piece, she sat up in her chair and continued to ignore them, so Loki turned back to Martha, seeking explanation. 

“That’s Melina Vostokoff.” She said, darting quick eyes over at the man in the corner. Loki followed suit only to find that the man hadn’t moved and was still staring at him. He felt unprepared for whatever it was that man had in mind for him. Vulnerable. But more, he felt laid bare. he shivered. 

“And opposite her?” He asked. 

“Name’s Curtis Carr, alias Chemestro. and don’t let this icy welcome fool you-- Melina’s really a total sweetheart.” Curtis told him. Loki almost couldn’t tell if he was sincere, but the sudden sound of brittle material splintering made him startle. 

Curtis looked under the table and straightened up, swearing.  
“Goddamnit Melina, not again! Learn to take a joke you damn ice hag.” By the time he’d finished speaking, though, two orderlies had stepped in, and Melina had complacently walked out of the door ahead of one of them, not looking back. 

“I didn’t even see her move.” Loki admitted, impressed. 

“She’s one of the best assassins in the world. If you see her move, it’s only because she wants you to. She studied under the same people who trained Natasha Romanov. Don’t say that name around her, though. She’s got some serious middle child issues about the whole thing.”  
Loki wondered if that was akin to the pains of being the second son. 

He was distracted from that, though, when the white faceless man stood and approached them.  
“My name used to be Jonathan Ohnn.” He said, and it was disarming the way his throat worked, but there were no lips to move, and his jaw stretched his face, but the black circle upon it remained unchanged. “Now folks just call me Spot.” He shrugged and held out a hand. “Saw the portal you opened up over New York. Gotta said, big fan of your work.” Loki tentatively shook the proffered hand. 

“Thank you.” He said. “And you are all… you’ve all elected to be rehabilitated, or…?”

“This is part of my sentence!” Tiboldt chimed in. “Once I am proclaimed whole and unlikely t return to my dastardly ways, I will have my circus returned to me, and I can start again, build it from the ground up. Ahhh, to be back under a big top…” He trailed off dreamily, and Loki realized that he reminded him of Fandral. No wonder he was so instantly annoyed. 

“I decided to.” Marsha said. “Long story, but it’s just time for a new me. Reinvent myself, separate from my past. You know.”

“My powers revolve around the spots that should be all over my body. Unfortunately, I threw them all as weapons, and S.H.I.E.L.D. is holding them hostage til I shape up.” Spot said, shrugging. 

“I met a hero, I’m here to learn how to do him proud.” Curtis said, walking up on a newly replaced prosthetic. Loki felt his eyes pulled from its gleaming plastic surface to his own, nigh on useless legs.  
“You worried they’re too banged up?” Curtis asked, and Loki jerked his face up to meet the tall man’s gaze.  
“I am just eager for therapy to begin, that I might find out.” Loki told him. 

“You do look worse for the wear since the last time we saw you on the news.” Tilda said. “What happened?” 

“Torture.” Loki said shortly, well aware that they were all staring down at him. “Not here, though. I was dumped here, left to die, and Captain America found me. Saved my life.” It as his turn to shrug, but that shrug turned into a full body flinch when the figure in the corner suddenly swooped in, descending upon Loki like he had just caught dinner. 

The man brought his face to a halt scant inches from Loki’s own, and he could hear his heart hammering in his ears.  
The face looked young-- younger than anyone else in this room. The eyes, though, looked old, and Loki wondered if this man, like he, had seen the ripples of time. Or perhaps simply something equally horrific. 

Loki froze, and after a long few moments, the man pulled away and hurried out the door. 

The orderlies didn’t try to stop him, but one did follow him. 

Once he couldn’t see him any more, Loki took the breath he’d been holding out on. 

“And that,” Tilda said with a certain amount of relish, “Was The Winter Soldier. You remember how Melina was almost the best assassin in the world? Well he’s so good, most people don’t believe he exists. Or he was. Turns out, he used to be Captain America’s best buddy. We’re supposed to call him ‘James’ or ‘Bucky’, but it makes him unhappy if we do. So we don’t call him anything at all.” She sounded almost smug. “Looks like you made yourself an enemy, Captain’s boy.” She put her hands on her hips. 

“Now, who’s next against me on this thing? Marsha, I think we can agree you were losing miserably.” She gestured at the table, and Marsha nodded. 

Slowly everyone drifted back to their respective chosen activities, Curtis moving to join Spot on the couch, where an animated lion was throwing another into a rushing herd of hoofed beasts.  
Loki wheeled himself over next to the piano, to sit in the sun. He stayed there quietly for a few minutes, then reached out and tapped the G key. When no one yelled at him, he hit each of five notes, one after the other, G, F, E, D, C, descending lower as he went. He removed his hand and just listened to the sounds around him until the orderlies collected him up. The others lingered on, presumably allowed to stay later, or perhaps allowed to see themselves back to their respective rooms. 

When he got to his, and the door was closed and locked behind him, he wheeled over to the desk and was surprised to see a small pile of new books on the desk for him to read, along with a note.  
‘Let me know what’s most to your taste, and I’ll see if I can’t get you more. -Dr. T. Rivera’  
He felt a real smile cross his face and picked up the utmost one.  
“A Window in Thrums.” he read, fingers trailing over the gilt embossing on the cover. “Yes indeed.”

And so the sixth day passed, with no word from Rogers. But still it was a marked improvement from the forth. He ate dinner automatically, refusing to take the time to savor the utter lack of taste, and slept when he was supposed to. 

Let anyone complain about that.


	7. Seven

He awoke knowing that he was meant to see Doctor Rivera that day, and he felt relatively comfortable with that fact, replaying his group interactions in his mind. The only sour notes were Vostokoff’s attack on Carr, and Barnes’ scrutiny and sudden flight. None of which, he thought, he could reasonably be blamed for. And it seemed that, if anything, these people tried to pride themselves on being reasonable. 

He spent part of the morning struggling with the dialect of the new novel he’d been given, finding that to speak the words aloud helped at times, and at others he was completely lost. Spoken language, almost without fail, Loki understood, for he had been alive long enough to have interacted with members of a good many races and species. When written, on the other hand, the languages each had a fully new set of rules, and though he had conquered some of the older ones of Midgard, this Scottish was confusing at times. Fortunately he was a quick study, and with nothing else to do, it was an almost welcome challenge.

The handlers came after lunch, and the larger one, whose nametag called him ‘Bruno’, took hold of his chair’s handles, but Loki cleared his throat, attempting to sound timid. 

“If it’s all the same to you ...Bruno, would you mind terribly if I moved my own wheels? It’s just that I get so little chance to move while in here.” 

And so it was that, though he had to allow Bruno to get the door for him, he wheeled himself into Dr. Rivera’s office. He stalwartly kept his eyes away from her face until he was stopped in front of her, and the exertion stung in his shoulder blades and the muscles of his arms, but he felt accomplished. 

“Doctor Rivera.” He greeted her calmly, the tranquility of his voice betrayed by the shortness of his breath. It was an odd position, leaning forward and working his arms. He would need to practice at it more. He’d also found himself favoring-- and as such, drifting towards-- his left side. He’d have to remember to compensate.

She was already seated in her usual chair, fingers swiping absently at her tablet when Loki arrived, and she set it aside as she looked up to greet him.   
“Hello, Loki. You look better,” she remarked with a smile, apparently pleased with his progress. “Were the books I sent you all right?”

“I've started A Window in Thrums. It would seem dull if it weren't so... patently foreign.” He shrugged, not attempting to antagonize, just stating his opinion. “I do like decoding some of the flavored linguistics, though. Charming.”

The door clicked closed and he sat up a little straighter in his chair, shifting to make himself more comfortable for the duration of the visit.  
“Was there any special reason you chose those books, or is it simply my luck of the draw?”

“Part of it was guess-work,” she admitted sheepishly. “I did my best, based on what I knew of you and our sessions, but I didn’t feel I knew you well enough personally yet to hazard an informed guess. I thought it at least couldn’t hurt to become more familiar with other cultures. If you have a particular subject you’re interested in, I can do my best to oblige.”

“Guess work can lead to some interesting things. As for other subjects...I might be interested in learning some things about Midgardians, now that, for all intents and purposes, I am one.” He considered for a long moment, then took a deep breath. “What can you tell me about life expectancies? For...for humans, I mean.” He cleared his throat and looked intently at the red areas on his hands from working his wheels, physical manifestations of his newfound frailty.  
“My interest is... not nearly so academic.” He admitted, flicking his eyes upwards to gauge her response.

The smile she gave him was one of understanding, and it made his instantly bristle. As if she could understand. 

“It tends to vary, particularly these days with the advances there have been in science and medicine,” she answered. “Typically if one keeps up one’s health and manages stress efficiently, you’ll end up on the longer end of the spectrum.” She paused, clearly trying to judge her words. “There’ve been humans known to live well past 100 years.” 

“A hundred years.” He said softly, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of him. He'd known the number was low. Negligible, really. He'd figured his fa-- that Odin would keep him in the dungeons of Asgard at least thrice that, after his assault on Midgard with the Chitauri.  
“And how old do you suppose this body is? Thirty? Forty?” He searched her face, trying to find a way to explain to her why he was reeling.  
“I have only, at most, perhaps seven decades to live. You spend your entire life knowing that, but I… I should live to see five thousand.” He felt his words growing desperate, higher pitched, his hands beginning to shake as he struggled to find words to encapsulate the rising panic in his chest. “I am one thousand fifty this year. While your life expectancy is a matter of minimal concern to you… to me it is the equivalent of being told I’m to die, barely having achieved the age of majority.” He gulped in air, attempting to stave off tears.

“Age of majority?” She murmured, brows knotting, and he saw her mind at work behind her eyes.

“I have always been the younger brother. I have always known that Thor would have a coronation day to mark his transition from adolescence into adulthood. I knew I would never have that, when I-- I… am some time from reaching that age, still. But now it seems I won't even see it.” He grew sad, quiet.  
“I don't know how you do it. Your lives are here and gone in the blink of an eye. By your measure, I've already lived... so many lives. But for me. For me life was just starting.” He felt the wetness escape his eye and brushed at it with his hand.  
“Sorry.” He choked out, then took a deep breath, composing himself, halting his tears, trying to steady his hands and get his emotions in check. “It's still... still a shock.”

“I know,” she replied softly, almost a whisper. Like she was sad for him. Or afraid to interrupt his sudden show of emotion. He had been such a weakling, these last few days, exploding into fits of both anger and sorrow… it had been so long since anyone even acknowledged either though. Before, the pain would come regardless of whether he was laughing or crying, screaming or begging. Now… He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself.

“You’re right, we grow up knowing that our time is limited, and we’re encouraged to make the best of it. But it must be jarring to suddenly find all those years you thought you had ahead of you… gone. And all you can do now is make the best of what you have left. You were robbed of a lot of time, Loki. I’m sorry for that.” She spoke over the last of his noisy exhales, and he took a moment to be sure he was fully still again before speaking. 

“But it isn't just that, is it?” He asked her with a sense of jarring clarity. “Years, family, my world-- the world I knew, that's all gone, but more than that, atop the shortened life span, my actual expectancy is smaller still, for I am in a realm that, even once released from here and allowed to build what life I can for myself, my face is recognizable, my case high profile, and there are no shortage of those who would see me dead for what I have done. My every means of defense is gone… I am helpless and alone, surrounded by enemies, and nothing you or I do will change that.” There it was. The utter helplessness, his total reliance on these people. He was truly at their mercy, had been since he arrived. At the best, he would be forever under their protection, for the remainder of his days.  
And the person who had realized that, the one that had put him here, still had yet to speak to him, to come see that he was even still alive.  
He supposed he oughtn't have expected any better. Not really.

“I like to think one of the best traits humanity has is its ability to adapt to survive,” she told him with a faint smile. “People have lived through wars, genocides, plagues, many without weapons or magic and often alone… I’m confident that you’ll find this same ability within yourself, given time. And it never hurts to make allies among your enemies,” she added. “How did you find your co-residents yesterday?”

“Tiboldt is an idiot, too theatrical for even my tastes, which is saying a lot. I like Marsha well enough, she seems inoffensive. I have known women like Vostokoff, though to a one they all ended up as Valkyries. She strikes me as one who works best alone and prefers it that way. But I did not speak with her long. Tilda... I do not recall her last name. She was quiet, secretive, but there is a slyness to her. I think she would be interesting to come to know, and intelligent enough to make it worthwhile, if she would allow it. If I put the energy into it. Carr seems genial enough, but not overly ambitious. Or, at least, not driven. Spot... Spot is fascinating. His face.... his form is intriguing to me and I would learn more. And the other... he seemed not to like me, or perhaps not to like Captain America. As soon as he was mentioned... the other man left. The one with the mechanical arm.” He paused, ushering his thoughts into some semblance of order. “These people are all here for different reasons, because they want to reform or because they are being made to. This is the doorway to a second chance for all of them, yes? But... for why they were chosen for me to interact with... despite the mild shenanigans, they are stable, by and large, I suppose? Save the soldier.”

She listened carefully, making note of his opinions and judgments. “I’m glad you seem to have taken an interest in some of them. They are people worth knowing one way or another.” He had to wonder what was worthwhile about Tiboldt.   
“Yes, they are further along in their treatment and more stable as far as our residents go. I felt it would be a good starting point for you, and help you adjust to some of the various personalities you’ll encounter during your stay here. As for James Barnes, I believe that particular group is one of the best for him to be near, and he too is learning to cope with some sudden… life changes, I think is the best way to put it right now. I thought perhaps it might benefit you both to meet.”

“Tell me Doctor, what is his story? Rogers told me a little, and Marsha a little more, but I seem to have a good many pieces missing. And if he's going to be coming after me at some point, as it seems Tilda thinks he will, I'd prefer not to be completely unprepared.” He looked down at his pathetically frail body. “So to speak. Besides, they all know who I am and why I have done the things I've done as much as they can, without access to SHIELD documentation of my most recent stay. I feel distinctly underinformed. Save about Marsha, again, as it seems we have a common... acquaintance.” He leaned back in his chair, ready to absorb the information she would impart. Knowledge was the quickest way to gain an advantage and, for now, his only weapon.

She pursed her lips, hesitating, and he frowned, aware he was about to be denied his request.  
“I wonder if it might not be better to speak to him yourself,” she finally remarked. “I would not have placed him in your session if I so much as suspected you might be in danger from him. You have to understand there’s only so much I can say without violating rules and – more importantly – trust.”

“The top assassin in, it's possible, your entire realm, who has reasons to hate the man who rescued me, and conceivably in extension myself, and you think I'm safe from him? Yes, I can see how trust rates highly with you.” He rolled his eyes. “Not that it would really matter at this rate. I feel like I will blink and suddenly find myself discorporate. I suppose the method by which that is achieved matters very little, ultimately.” He sighed. Then, lest she should think he was giving up on life as a whole, he hastened to ask, “Have I passed enough tests yet to begin receiving the training I will need to walk? I promise you, my legs are whole, it isn't impossible, but I will need supplies if I am to teach myself, and... likely the aid or advice of one of your professionals. I have never had to heal in increments before, and never without the aid of magic. I think you can trust I won't be attacking anyone until I have at least some muscle mass, and certainly I will cooperate with anything that looks to be giving me what I want. Such as my mobility.”

She seemed to be about to say something, then reconsidered, her body language reflecting the shift as she sat up a bit straighter. 

"I've actually just finished altering your records to reflect that I think you're ready to begin physical therapy," she informed him. "You seem motivated and intent on recovery, and I believe you'd benefit from regular sessions from one of our specialists. Maybe tomorrow would be a good time to begin?"

“Well it can hardly be a bad time.” He agreed, pleased that it had been that simple. It seemed that at least some of the time all he needed do was ask. Or perhaps this was her way of ensuring that he truly didn't fall into a depressive fit, thanks to his loss-of-life-crisis. Either way, it suited him just fine.  
“Do you happen to know when said specialist might be available? It isn't that I have a heavy schedule, it's only that I prefer to know when things will be happening. Unannounced changes tend to--” He tapered off, remembering the days of being denied anything as comforting as a regular schedule. Besides, had he had that, he might have known how long he'd been at their mercy. He shook it off.  
“Discomfort me.” He finished. “And am I to continue seeing the group? Or was that merely a one time test?”

Her smile widened when he mentioned the group. "Yes of course, you'll be seeing them all again the day after tomorrow, so you'll be at least somewhat recovered from your first physical therapy session," she answered. "At the same time as before. As for when you can expect to meet with the specialist, how does 11 am sound? That way you’ll have the rest of the day to rest. We'll alternate that with group days, give you a chance to get to know some of the others."

“Others?” He asked sharply, his mind going back to the Soldier and his reactions... and her admission that those he had met were among the stablest. And even then, there had been violence and theatrics. He wasn't sure he was ready for... “If the group I was with before was the safe group, I shudder to think who you will introduce me to next. Fire breathers, I imagine, to go with my frosty heritage.”  
He found his words growing stilted and his posture growing more distant as he reacted to the idea, and cursed his torture again for taking away the unreadability he'd spent so much of his life crafting.

She must have noted the change, because she was quick to try and reassure him. "No, you'll remain only among our stablest residents for the foreseeable future. But that was only a sample of them, there are more that you've yet to speak to, particularly some of our younger ones," she explained. "I know you may not believe me when I say so, Loki, but your well-being is a priority to me."

He heard her say ‘younger ones’ and immediately frowned.  
“You think it wise to put me amongst children.” He asked, completely horrified at the prospect. “Should they not be around role models who are less likely to have rained destruction on the heads of them or those near them? I can only assume they are not so young to have been spared my... attempts upon their world.” He grimaced, remembering his own childhood, and how cruel and untended the words of children were then. Now, he could hardly imagine, especially given their more than ample reasoning to hate him. Children were all sociopaths, in his opinion, until society had more of a chance to place its restrictions of nicety and polite interaction upon them.

"They're really more along the lines of young adults," Rivera answered calmly. "Old enough to be able to choose their own role models and see past their preconceived notions, with some guidance. And I'm not exactly tossing you into the deep end and leaving you to sink, you'll be in a heavily supervised room with people trained to monitor for hazardous situations. I'm certain you'll be fine."

“You think I should spend time with them because of my relative age, in comparison to when I would have died, had I been allowed my full lifespan, correct? Despite my years being more than a thousand more than theirs.” He was trying to wrap his head around it. “Is it meant to make me feel better, that people younger than my body is now have equally ruined their lives with their decisions or the circumstances around them? I assume that's why they are here, isn't it?” He felt the frown lines resting heavily between his brows. “Can you tell me about them? Before I go in, that is. I don't... want to say or do anything damaging due to my ignorance.”

“Again, there are rules that dictate what I can and can’t tell you about them. But if they were so delicate I thought you would hurt them, I wouldn’t let you near them. Okay? Even if you don’t have faith in yourself, just know I don’t want to see any harm come to anyone under this roof, and I wouldn’t do anything to cause it to.” 

“You’ve a home full of the scourge of your world. I realize yours is a gentler folk than those I grew up with, however on my-- on Asgard it would not be unlikely that a setting such as this be used to pit one against another until they had destroyed each other. I do not trust easily, Doctor Rivera. And though in my mind I know the differences, convincing my instincts of them will take some time.”

“Of course. And no one will deny you that time. Not here. If you don’t think you’re up to meeting the young adult group yet, I won’t make you.” 

“Do you think it will help? Even realizing that I will have very little reason to see myself in them?” He asked, trying to settle himself. The worst that would happen is he would sit in silence until the allotted time was over, or ask to be returned to his room. 

“You might be surprised. But yes, I think it will.” 

“Then I will… try.” He was hesitant but he remembered his words to Captain Rogers. He didn’t want him to return, or check in on him, and be disappointed. To regret his decision to intervene on Loki’s behalf. Because he was slowly realizing more and more how little hope he had outside of The Captain’s protection.

“Thank you, Loki.” Doctor Rivera said, making one final note on her tablet. “Was there anything else you wanted to address before we finish up for the day?” She asked, eyebrow quirked as if to punctuate the inquiry. He decided then that he liked when she looked like that, surprised and pleased and inquisitive. 

“Not just at the moment.” He told her. “Unless requests count?”   
“Go ahead.”

“Some form of roasted meat… and starches wrapped in leaves. We had something called millet often, served after being cooking rolled in the large leaves of water rich plants, and boiled. I don’t know if you have anything like that here, but… what I am served here is not dissimilar to the gruel given our prisoners as punishment. And the food given to me by the Chitauri, when they remembered I was to eat.”

“You’re on orders to eat easily digestible things, since you went so long not being able to eat, and no one wants to damage your stomach by giving you anything too rich right away. Your records show that the surgeon who worked on you also worked with a dietician to make the meal plan you’re currently on. The good news is you only have a couple more days of broth and oatmeal before you can move up to soups with solids. But I’ll see if they can’t come up with something that won’t remind you of things you’d rather not remember.” 

“I’d thank you for it.” He responded, not happy to know he had to eat more tastelessness, but glad that there was at least an end in sight. 

He watched that particular smile bloom again. Good, he noted to himself. At least he was pleasing his captors. If he kept them happy, he imagined his life would be easier. 

“Alright. That’s it for today.” He followed the motion of her fingers on her bracelet again, being sure that he had memorized the motion, just in case, and when the doors opened he wheeled himself out. 

Supper, when it came, was a white pile of mashed starch, though not gritty as the food of previous days had been. It was lightly creamy, salted, and bore the sharp sting of cheese. Just the briefest press of it to his tongue caused his mouth to fill with saliva, and he could only manage a few bites, but they were entirely worth it. 

He curled into bed with the copy of Thrums in his hand, not to read, for the lights turned off of their own accord at a set time. He clenched his hands together around them, and held it up beside his face. That way, if anyone looked in on him sleeping, he wouldn’t look like he’d been conditioned to sleep with his hands chained in a certain position. He was just holding a book. No harm done. He was perfectly normal. Well on his way to being fully recovered. And the sooner he could convince them of as much, the sooner he could move away from the scrutiny, and reclaim some level of control of his life. Or what remained of it. The sooner he was out from under their thumbs, the sooner he could stop wasting everyone’s time. 

***  
His boots fell heavily onto the floor and Steve shook his socks out before letting them drop into his laundry hamper. He was exhausted, bone-weary, but he had promises to keep.   
‘And miles to go before I sleep.’ He thought wryly, the tiniest twitch of a smile hitting his lips.   
At least he had his own transportation here, and didn’t have to clear the trip with anyone before heading out. 

He changed into his civilian clothing and ran cold water over his hands before splashing it across his face-- just a little shock to his system, just to keep him going for long enough to get there. 

The sun was rising as he left his apartment again, so soon after getting home, and he started his engine up with a rumble that felt stifled by the surreal stillness of the early morning hours. Even in a city that supposedly never slept, there were still quiet times, and Steve had gotten to know them quite well. 

The ride went much quicker than it should have, all things considered, but when the roads were as open as they were now, and the wind as cold against his skin, seeping through his jeans and riding coat, he didn’t mind. He was safe enough. 

He felt bad, he really did, about how long it had been since he’d checked in with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s halfway house, for Bucky’s sake as well as Loki’s, now. But Bucky never wanted to see him. Loki did, or at least his therapist said he’d asked after Steve. He wasn’t sure honestly which stance made him feel worse, though.

He hung his helmet off of the clips at the rear of his bike, locking it down more out of habit than for fear of it being stolen. Not here, any way. 

It was late mid-morning now, and he thought he saw a flash of dark hair duck out of sight through a doorway when he turned his head.   
He pretended not to have noticed, because he’d learned that Bucky normally came out to see him eventually during his visits, and seeking him out made Bucky react like a cornered animal. It was better to wait, and more, it was worth the wait. 

Besides, now he had something to do other than sitting in a room and making himself available.   
“Morning Travis. I’m here to see Doctor Rivera, and then visit a couple of residents please.” 

“Of course, Mr. Rogers.” Travis replied. He gave him a friendly smile and handed Steve a visitor’s badge and a key card. The badge he was used to, the card less so. He must have looked puzzled.  
“It’s for access to Loki’s room, since he’s still under observation and controlled outings. Talia-- Doctor Rivera-- has an appointment ending in the next ten minutes or so, if you want to wait here for her, I’ll send her a message letting her know. She doesn’t have another one until two thirty.”

Steve thanked him and settled into a waiting room chair, unable to keep from exhaling sharply when the force of sitting made his exhaustion settle heavily onto him.   
It had only been two days since he had slept. He had gone longer, but now he lacked the adrenaline.   
He looked out the corner of his eye and caught Bucky staring through the textured glass of the window beside the door into the den. 

He looked away, feigning that the motion had been the start of a stretch. He rolled his neck, groaning softly as the muscles in his shoulders clenched. Fortunately most of that would work itself out in his sleep and at his next session in the gym.   
He propped his chin on his hand so that he could turn his head a little more away from Bucky, though he strained his ears for any sound of an approach.   
He must have stopped concentrating at some point, though, because the next thing he knew, his head was slipping off his fist and he was jerking awake… and Bucky was sitting right beside him, sideways in the chair, perched on one arm of it and leaning in, studying Steve from up close. 

And he had flinched. 

Steve felt immediately awful, but it seemed that it wasn’t Bucky’s proximity that had made him shift, which in turn had caused him to wake. Doctor Talia Rivera was standing a few feet off, watching their interaction with interest. 

"It seems like Fury's running you ragged again," she remarked with a smile, drawing a few steps closer. "I was beginning to wonder if I should let you sleep for a few more minutes. James seemed content enough to let you be." She gestured slightly at him, and though her calm was absolute and unruffleable, he thought she might be a little nervous.   
He couldn’t blame her. It hadn’t been very long since Bucky had been a tool, a weapon. A mindless killer. Now he wasn’t, though… not a killer. Not mindless. Not entirely. But he understood why she would worry. Who knew what kind of programming might be in his old friend’s head. 

Steve’s eyes darted to where Bucky was making a face at being called James. The attention and Steve being awake brought a change over the soldier, and while Steve wouldn’t have described him as relaxed, the way he straightened his back and squared his shoulders made it clear that whatever he had been before had been far better. He watched as the other man stood, nodded shakily at Doctor Rivera, then retreated, without a backward glance or a single word said to Steve.   
He sighed and pushed his hair back from his brow, frustrated and trying to keep it in check. 

“It was important. I should have slept before I came, but I got your message about Loki asking after me, figured I ought to stop in here first.” Swiftly, he remembered his manners and stood up, ignoring the ache in his feet. He put his hand out towards her to shake.  
“I’m sorry; how are you?” 

She was looking after Bucky and she frowned slightly before her eyes and attention snapped back to Steve. She took his hand and squeezed it gently, and it took Steve a moment to adjust. Her hands were smaller than he was used to, and much softer. He mostly dealt with agents, fighters-- he was tired. 

"I'm well, thank you.” She told him. “I have my hands pretty full, as always, but it's work I enjoy. If you'd like, we can step into my office for a minute or two and then you can go visit your friend," she offered. "I think he'll be quite happy to see you."

“Which one is my friend?” He asked, a wistfulness in his tone. He snapped out of it quickly enough, though. Too little sleep often left him maudlin at the end of it, and he had no business bringing that kind of emotion into a place like this. The people here were healing, growing, getting better. No one had time for self pity, especially not the self pity of a high profile hero.

He nodded and made an after you gesture, then followed her back through the doors and into her space, seating himself in one of the chairs and trying not to think of himself as being up for examination.

His mind went instead to Bucky here, to Loki here, with her across from them. He wondered how many secrets were entrusted to her, and felt a twinge of fear creep up his spine. He knew she wasn’t Hydra. Maria Hill had interviewed and approved the woman herself. But he was still dealing with the cleanup from a mess that had come from being too trusting. 

He kept his thoughts to himself and watched her settle in.

She glanced at him with a curious smile for a moment, but said nothing more until she was in position. He got the sense that she was very careful about how she displayed herself, and wondered if that was true particularly in her office, or outside of it as well. Her legs were crossed, demeanor casual and relaxed as she regarded Steve. 

"I'm sorry Bucky didn't linger around long enough for you to talk to him," she apologized. "We're doing our best, but he's still rather skittish, even with the other residents."

“It’s alright. I suppose I should be used to it by now. Maybe he’ll get there… if not, I mean. At least he’s… here.” He shrugged, groping for the words and coming up short. Relief was principal among his emotions, though he had that longing that came up whenever he saw Bucky’s face. The recognition that this was his friend but not that always stopped him short and felt like a punch to the solar plexus

“What about Loki, though? The message I got when I got home said he’d been asking after me-- is he alright?” Bucky at least was a known quantity, unchanging, and though that wasn’t great, at least Steve knew he wasn’t likely to get worse. Loki on the other hand… he wasn’t so sure about. 

"Loki's been doing rather well, I think." She hesitated, obviously looking for words of her own. "He just started physical therapy and will hopefully be walking again, and he's been quite cooperative in general in terms of eating and our sessions. We're integrating him into a group of residents as well... I don't think it'll be too long before he's out of isolation."

She sounded cautiously hopeful, and he smiled, though he felt his brows pulling toward the center of his forehead.   
“I’m glad to hear it, but… if that’s the case, do you have any idea why he wanted me here? If he’s doing so well… I mean, I guess I just thought there was something wrong.” He tried to be glad for the good news, but all he could feel was worried. Worried and suspicious.   
This was Loki after all, and a Loki who had been intentionally broken. He should be fighting it, fighting being rebuilt. He seemed alternately like he had given up completely, or like he was trying to rebuild himself. This cooperation didn’t sound like him. He wanted to know what Loki was up to.

"Well, uh..." She sighed. "He said you promised. I think he felt it was part of the deal? He comes here and cooperates with the program, and you come see him and make sure he's all right."

There was a pause as she considered her next words. 

"He seems to be quite lonely. I think the possibility of you never coming back upsets him."

 

Steve felt his eyes go wide, then huffed out a breathy laugh and rubbed his hands down his face.   
“Right.” He said faintly. Of course. He had said that, hadn’t he? But… he really didn’t mean-- he wasn’t--   
“I didn’t mean to make him think I was. Was holding myself over his head, like some kind of threat or treat or something.” He looked sharply back at her, hoping she didn’t think too badly of him because of this. “I’m not trying to manipulate him. I wanted to give him a chance to settle in, and… I was on a mission. It was… it was important. But I never intended to abandon him or hurt him. I’ll talk to him, make sure he knows that.” He tried to make it sound firm, but it came out as a question. She’d know best what he should say, wouldn’t she?   
Or would she? She said he was cooperating, but not necessary that he was being open. Had Loki talked to her at all? And if he had, how much had he told her, and how much of it was true? Steve had come to trust what Loki told him… but only what he had told him. Things Loki said to anyone else were suspect.

"I understand, I tried to help him understand that you were most likely just occupied with a mission. Being Captain America is a full-time job, after all," she assured him. "I think he'll just be glad to see you again, and maybe reassuring him of your... acquaintance-ship wouldn't hurt. I think there's a chance he might make friends here eventually, but it's good if he knows he can count on you as part of his support system."

“I don’t want him feeling like he can count on me if I can’t be here for him as often as he’s going to need, though.” Steve pointed out, trying to be fair. “After all, like you said, being Captain America is a full time job. How long was he here before he started um, looking for me to come back?”  
He tried to figure out how many days it had been so far, a week? More? Around that, though. He could manage once a week trips here, couldn’t he? Could he?   
Half the time he didn’t know his own schedule, but Fury had said that he should be here as often as possible. He just wished ‘here’ was a little closer to everything else he had to attend to ‘as often as possible’.

"My professional opinion is that while you don't need to necessarily be here, staying in touch might be beneficial to keeping him grounded," she informs him. "Send him a message, a picture, a letter, something to let him know that you haven't forgotten him. It was shortly after our first session, a few days after he arrived, that he grew concerned about the possibility that I might have warned you away from seeing him. I reassured him that wasn't the case, and that's when I sent you the message."

“Is it-- would it be possible for me to. Hm.” Steve felt around in his coat pocket and came out with his Stark phone.   
“If I get Tony to make one of these that can only communicate with my phone-- I’m sure he can do that-- do you think it would be okay for Loki to have one? Then he could get in touch with me as often or as little as he wanted, when I’m not here.” He didn’t actually know their rules about the residents having phones, but it would make sense if they weren’t allowed. That way they wouldn’t be able to call for backups and a break out if they weren’t happy with how their treatment was going.

She eyed the phone uncertainly, pretty sure she was going to hit at least four different "Hell no's" the second she put in the request. But this was Captain America asking, that had to count for something. 

"I'll do my best to make it possible," she promised. She knew it was a long shot, but one that might be worth taking. "With certain limits in place, I think we could make it work." 

“If not we can figure something else out. Maybe you can print out emails for him from me? I just thought he’d doubt it less if he could have instant proof that it’s really me, and he might feel better if it’s not one sided.” Steve pocketed the phone again, and worried at his lip. 

“Bucky hasn’t said anything about wanting to hear from me, though? Has he said anything at all?”

"Emails we can definitely do," she agreed. Security probably still wouldn't like it, but there wasn't much they could do about it other than scowl. 

"Bucky... doesn't say much yet. He's still very much struggling with the tangled mess in his mind. It's not easy to draw him out of it, though I'd like to think we're getting closer, but... Ultimately I can't really help him unless he lets me. He did seem to take an interest in Loki the other day when your name came up, however."

He tried to imagine what taking an interest looked like in Bucky’s life now. 

“Did he say anything to him?” 

“Not to him, but he did ask about him-- the most words we’ve heard him string together since he’s been here. Mostly he just ran away from Loki.” 

Steve hummed thoughtfully.   
“I’ll try and get him to talk to me again before I leave. But Loki-- is he receiving visitors?” 

“You can go ahead-- Travis gave you a key? Since Loki specifically asked for you, and you’re on the cleared list, you should have no problems. And I can try and find James, see if I can’t get him used to the idea of talking to you.” 

Steve stood. “Thank you, Talia.” He shook her hand, hoping that he was expressing his gratitude clearly despite his exhaustion.

He left her office and followed her directions down the hall, to the left, and nearly to another hallway, before he found Loki’s room, or at least the one he was in for now. It sounded like they didn’t expect it to be permanent. 

He knocked lightly at the door, loathe to startle him, and was called to come in, though the voice was noticeably not Loki’s.

He slid his card and opened the door, then immediately apologized. He saw Loki stiffen up, saw the way his hand clenched in the blankets where he was using the high bed to steady himself. But his eyes were drawn to the black and silver contraptions around his knees that linked to the thick boots that wrapped around his ankles and halfway up his shins. 

Loki turned and pressed his other hand to the bed, his legs wobbling and his back bent and tensed while he lowered his head. The man who stood behind him, his hands clutching at a brace on Loki’s torso, took some of the weight from his legs, and Steve watched the muscles in his powerful forearms bunch, despite how little Loki still looked like he weighed.   
He looked like he could handle himself though, and he probably did this sort of thing regularly. He was very fit, muscles defined under his olive skin. There was only a little sweat on his brow, and the dark brown curls that were pressed there refused to be flattened by mere perspiration.

“Captain Rogers.” The man greeted. “It is a pleasure to meet you. If you’ll give us just a moment, Loki and I were just finishing our first fitting on his braces.” The therapist nodded at the chair that sat beside the desk-- clearly usually the desk chair, but which had been moved aside for to let Loki access it in his wheelchair.

From the vantage point that it provided, he could see the whites of Loki’s knuckles and the flush on his face. Steve wondered if it was from effort or if his presence was upsetting Loki. 

“Are you ready to sit back down?” The therapist asked, and Loki gave a shaky nod. “Alright.” The man said, soothing sounding. “The chair is right here,” he pulled it closer with his foot and stamped down on the brake on the wheel, locking it in place. The seat was just nudging the back of Loki’s leg, just below the knee, and Steve wondered if he could even feel it, with all of the gear around his skin. 

“Captain,” The man spoke up, “Would you mind giving Loki your arm, so that we can support him from either side while he-- okay.” Loki had a scowl on his face and had simply fallen backwards into the chair, forcing the therapist to hurry to keep it from tipping or spinning to one side. 

Somehow, nothing went wrong, and Loki was left seated, panting briefly with exertion. Before he’d even regained his breath, he pulled a small blanket off his bed and draped it over his legs, hiding the braces from view. 

“Captain.” He said, no sign of his breathlessness in his voice. His eyes flicked to the other man.   
“Leave us, Nico.”   
Imperious. Controlled. Steve wasn’t sure why, but it made his chest constrict. 

The therapist, Nico, looked between them, obviously unsure and uncomfortable. Steve hauled himself to his feet, well aware things should be smoothed over. He had a feeling that he was the cause of Loki’s… whatever this mood was. 

He offered the man his hand.   
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr…?” He lead, realizing that he hadn’t actually been introduced. 

“Poulopoulos. Nico Poulopoulos. The pleasure is mine.” He hastened to assure him, and Steve smiled tightly, reminded of Coulson, when he’d first met him. His eyes slid over to Loki, drawn up and straight backed in his chair, but drawn into himself as well, refusing to look at them. 

“Thank you for your work with my friend.” He told Nico, shook his hand once, and let it go. Nico beamed, clearly more at ease with the clarification of Steve’s relation to Loki firmly in place, or maybe just flustered. New, probably, Steve thought. He smiled a little awkwardly. Nico gathered what few things he had set down, and left, stopping on his way out as if to say something, but faltering, changing his mind, and leaving. 

Once the door was shut behind him, Loki seemed to collapse into himself.

“When you didn’t come, I told myself that I would be able to be up and around when you did return, so that I could gather my pride and walk away from you.” He spoke without looking at Steve, and Steve wasn’t sure what to do, what to say.   
He waited through the pause while Loki inhaled, then turned to face him, maneuvering his chair so he wasn’t straining his neck.   
“It seems I’m just low on pride every time I see you.” he pressed his lips together in a shadow of a smile, but didn’t quite make it. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I came as soon as I got back-- Doctor Rivera had left a message saying you wanted to see me.” 

Loki nodded.   
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-- I assumed I would see you as often as before, but. Now that I’m not on the verge of death or in possession of magical shards…I didn’t know if it was my obedience that meant you thought you needn’t come, or if my acting out kept you away...” he trailed off. 

“It’s not that.” Steve hastened to reassure him. “I had to go-- there was… something very dangerous, in the hands of men who shouldn’t have it. Like the spear, and how you wanted it safe. I had to make sure this artifact was safe… and I had to fight to get it. That’s why I was gone-- not because of anything you did or didn’t do.” He winced inwardly, aware that his tenderfooting around the subject of the mission meant that he sounded like he was talking down to Loki.

Loki must have noticed, but he didn’t bristle or say anything about it. He just nodded, not looking easy.   
“Doctor Rivera has me trying to befriend the others here. I’m afraid she thinks I rely too much on you for support.” He sounded like he agreed-- or was afraid Steve did. 

“I talked a little with her-- I think it’s more that she worries you don’t have any. Especially with my not giving you the time you need.” Steve hesitated, then put a hand on Loki’s arm rest, near enough that if Loki wanted to initiate contact he could, close enough to show his sincerity, he hoped, without causing the poor guy to flinch. 

“I am so sorry that I wasn’t here as soon as I thought, and that I didn’t send a message. It’s no excuse, but I had responsibilities. Captain America has a lot of responsibilities.” He knew he sounded a little bitter about it, but he was too tired to care. “I’m working on making arrangements, though-- I am going to be here in person as much as I can, but in the meantime I’m going to work with Rivera to set up a pro--program.” His word broke on a yawn. “Sorry. Program, where you can write me letters, and she will send them to me, and I can respond instantly, or as soon as I have a chance, and you’ll get them from her. I know it’s not perfect but…”   
“These letters won’t be private, of course.” Loki pointed out. “And anything I say to you in them may well be held against me in my sessions, much like our conversation now might.” Steve followed Loki’s glance to the speaker system and cameras in the room. 

When he’d been approved for visitation, he’d had to sign some paperwork informing him that he would be on security footage whenever he was in the building, but he hadn’t expected it in the patients’ rooms. 

“I’m going to talk to Tony about getting you a private means of contacting me.” Steve told him, taking his hand off the chair and backing away. 

He didn’t want to say anything to undermine the authority of the house, but the constant observation made him nervous. He could only imagine how Loki must feel, knowing he was being watched at all times, every day. The idea of being forced to go through one of the lowest points of his life, of trying to recover with an unseen audience hanging over his head, made Steve’s skin crawl. 

He remembered being weak and poor and thin and sick, and not even wanting Bucky, his closest friend, practically his brother, to see him. Let alone an army of faceless doctors. And especially not one that Loki still wouldn’t be sure he could trust. 

Steve tried to put himself in Loki’s shoes, and knew he couldn’t. He’d never been as hated as Loki was, and with that came a fear for his life. At the worst Steve would have been ignored or beat up. Not killed. Not tortured. Not while he was helpless, anyway. 

“It would be good to be able to say I could contact you whenever I like…” Loki said thoughtfully, and Steve felt a little weight lift from his chest. But it came crashing back down when Loki continued. “My importance here, the attention I am given, directly correlates to how often your name falls from my lips. If they thought I could voice my complaints to you directly any time I wished, I might heal and be moved to my next facility faster.”

“You mean to say that your current state is because they knew I was coming back?” Steve felt his anger rising and he tried not to immediately worry about Bucky’s treatment, with them knowing that he wouldn’t speak to Steve. 

“I have been here how long now? Today was the first time I have left that chair other than to be bathed thrice and to sleep each night and relieve myself during the day. These contraptions have only now been added to my routine, and I have seen only the handlers, my therapist, and been allowed one trip to a common room, to befriend the other captives here. My food has been of a lesser quality than prison fare on Asgard.” He was tapping his finger against the metal on his leg, the sharp lines of it visible through the blanket he’d pulled on for modesty.   
“And now, it seems I will be unable to don pants again until someone comes by and helps me remove them, or until they issue me breeches loose enough to cover these monstrosities.” 

Steve felt his eyes begin to itch, the only forewarning he got to tears. He slumped until his elbows hit his knees and he put his head in his hands.   
The exhaustion mixed with how terrible he felt for putting Loki here, for not checking in on him sooner, the weight of his responsibility to this life that he’d saved felt like it was crushing the air out of his lungs. And the worst part was how Loki didn’t sound angry. He just reported it, calmly, detached. The way he had spoken of some of the worst points of his life. And Steve-- Steve had done this to him.

Loki fell silent, and all Steve could hear was his heart thundering in his ears and the sound of his pitiful sniffling as he fought to stop allowing himself to be overwhelmed. 

It was his turn to flinch when a hand was laid on his shoulder. He hadn’t even heard Loki rolling himself closer.   
“I am sorry, Rogers. I did not intend to lay my burden on you, or to force you to carry it-- me--.” He sounded as lost as Steve felt. 

“It’s not you, I’m… I didn’t want to make you wait any more, I came right here from the mission. I haven’t slept and I’m just. Still wound up. Still a little out of my skin.” He wasn’t entirely sure he was making sense. 

Loki was silent for another moment, and Steve could feel him looking down on him. Eventually he couldn’t take it anymore and looked up. 

Loki had actually turned his face away and towards the bed.   
“I know that we have been enemies,” He started, sounding as though he was pickinging his words very carefully, “But you have watched over me as I slept. I realize it isn’t much, but if you would have a… a friend to do the same for you, you are welcome to my bed.” 

Steve’s brow furrowed, and he considered what was truly on offer here. He was too tired to really wrap his head around any game Loki might be playing, any political move he might be making, and maybe not smart enough even if he weren’t exhausted.   
But at it’s basest, this was about trust. Loki had trusted him-- had had to trust him. And he was trying to show Steve that he could be trusted too. 

There was no better place to try it, really. If Loki did try to do something, he was certain he would be stopped before he managed to do much harm. Besides, he was still weak, still unable to stand on his own, let alone do anything that would permanently injure Steve. And the longer he looked at it, the more enticing that bed seemed.   
“What will you do while I sleep?” He asked.

Loki gave him a small smile, acknowledging the acceptance for what it was. 

“What I have done every day since my arrival, Captain. I will read.” 

Steve stripped off his shoes and socks, rolling them together and tucking them safely out of the way under the bed. He hesitated before climbing in, though, seeing Loki’s pants laid out on top of the rumpled covers. 

“Before I do… would you like me to help you take off the walking brace and get dressed? I don’t think you’re supposed to wear them if you’re only going to be sitting, and it looks… uncomfortable.” 

“It is, rather.” Loki admitted, his eyes going to his lap shyly. He firmed his shoulders, though, and sat up straighter, lifting his jaw as if the posture was what gave him the courage.   
“I suppose you have seen me worse than this. I would be most grateful for your assistance, Captain.” And the thing was that he didn’t sound stiff, didn’t sound ashamed. He actually seemed grateful. And that was what really sealed the deal for Steve. 

It took maybe ten minutes of fiddling, and before he’d gotten them off properly, a soft knock at the door announced the return of Nico Poulopoulos.   
“I am sorry, I wasn’t sure how long your visit would be-- Can I assist you in removing them?” He sounded a lot more formal about everything now, and seemed less starstruck in Steve’s presence. He could only assume the man had been talked to.   
Together, they got Loki’s legs freed up and his harness off, then his pants replaced. 

“You aren’t to try and stand on your own, or do anything more strenuous than the little stretches we practiced-- no weight on your legs without the braces for now.” He told Loki, who nodded soberly, making Steve believe that they had already discussed the potential for damage if he didn’t take care with his rehabilitation process. 

Nico took the braces away with him, and Loki let out a harsh exhale.   
“I shall be interested to see how soon he comes back, after this little visit.” His voice and eyes were dark, and Steve’s heart clenched again at how Loki seemed to expect his healthcare to be taken away from him as part of the punishment that he was constantly expecting. 

“When I leave I’ll talk to them. I won’t have you being mistreated, not by anyone, not while you’re in my care. And I’ll make it very clear that you are. Don’t worry.” Steve still felt hopeless about all this, but he put the brave face on. He felt like Loki could use that, right now. 

Loki, though, seemed to see through it. His smile was brittle.   
“Sleep, Captain. You have put it off long enough.” He sounded warm, so caring, and Steve thought he must be loopy. Because though he didn’t think Loki was all bad, it was very difficult equating his name with the tenderness in his tone. 

It felt like the moment his head touched the pillow, his eyes closed, and he was out. 

It was Loki’s stomach grumbling that finally brought Steve back to the waking world. He had at first thought that it was far off rifle fire, then maybe canons. But when he bolted upright, all he saw was Loki’s chagrined face and him gripping his stomach. 

“I apologise.” He muttered, and Steve opened his mouth, shut it, shook his head, and rubbed at his eyes while his mind caught up. When it came back, he jerked his head up to look at Loki, concerned. 

“How long was I out for?” He asked. 

“I couldn’t say. I don’t actually have any means of keeping time, here. I only know it must be past six.” He shrugged, and his stomach rumbled another warning.   
Steve frowned, then realized that six must be when they normally fed Loki. Which hadn’t happened, because he was here. 

Even unconscious, he was amazing at making things worse. 

He sat up and put on his shoes.   
“I’m sorry, I’ll get someone to bring your-- oh.” The door opened before he could finish sliding the card, and he stepped back to allow the door to swing open. Travis stood there, holding a tray with a steaming bowl on it and looking altogether nervous. 

“They said the moment you woke up--” Travis said, and Steve scowled. 

“You should have just stuck to his schedule. What else has Loki been ignored for because I was here?” 

“Only a restroom break, Captain, please. I don’t begrudge you your sleep. Calm yourself. They had no idea how to react in this situation.” Loki spoke soothingly, and Steve was surprised, since he had seemed miserable here before Steve’s nap. 

“Why are you defending them?” He asked, wondering if something had happened that he had missed. 

“Oh, I’m not.” Loki said mildly. “I have been treated poorly, and I am sure that meal is nothing but broth and bread. Still, in fairness, you are an unknown quantity, and I would wager they have never had an Avenger fall asleep in one of their isolation rooms with a patient in attendance before.”   
That did make sense. And Steve couldn’t help but sneak a look at the tray-- it was exactly what Loki had said. Which, given his recent inability to eat anything, was perhaps fair, but… shouldn’t they have given him something a little more than that? Hell, nickle diners had served better, back in his time. 

“Well, I apologize for sleeping and leaving, but it seems I have several conversations to have with the staff. I’ll be back tomorrow, though.” He raised his voice for the last part, though he was sure they could hear everything he said perfectly fine. 

“Return safely, Captain.” Loki said, wheeling himself to the desk to receive his food. He sounded withdrawn again, cold, and Steve knew Loki didn’t believe him. He’d have to build his faith in him back up. Loki’s back was to him, and he felt like he had been summarily dismissed. 

He met Talia in the hall.   
“Bucky is in the library. He agreed to see you, this time, though that was several hours ago.” She managed to sound only mildly reproachful. 

“Thanks.” He told her, though he hated that she was clearly passing some kind of judgement on him for spending his time in Loki’s room asleep. He knew it was awful of him. He should have slept first, then come, and spent the time talking further, trying to get Loki more comfortable, trying to get things going better for him. He hoped Loki was right; hoped his presence would improve things. 

At the very least there were cameras. That meant they had seen-- could see everything that he and Loki had said and done. No one could accuse him of being untoward in any way. That was good.

He turned into the library. 

At first he didn’t see him, but then Bucky stood up from the chair he’d been sitting in, so still that he had all but blended into the upholstery. 

“You’re late.” he said, his voice rough with complete disuse, and Steve closed his eyes, amazed to hear that voice again, even though he had a few times now. 

“I’m sorry. I fell asleep.” 

Bucky let out a disbelieving snort. 

“It had been a couple of days since I slept.” Steve said defensively, falling easily back into the camaraderie he remembered. He watched something in Bucky’s face shutter off. “What about you, Buck, what’ve you been up to lately?” He asked, trying to salvage the conversation. 

“Don’t call me that.” He said. Steve stared at him, sure the hurt was written on his face. But he continued. “Bucky. Buck. James. He’s gone, he’s not here anymore. He’s not coming back. Bucky is dead.” He wasn’t trying to be cruel, Steve told himself. There was no malice in his voice. Just a bone deep weariness. It made Steve’s heart ache. 

“I don’t believe that.” He told him lowly. 

“Then we have nothing more to say.” He said. He stepped towards Steve, then hesitated. His metal arm, the one closest to Steve, jerked like he might touch him, then he angled himself so there was no contact at all, and he saw himself out. 

Steve knew better than to follow. Even here, where there was no where to go, Bucky could make himself disappear. And if he didn’t want to talk, there was no way to get him to. 

He scrubbed a hand over his face and sat for a few minutes, composing himself before heading out to the front desk, and beginning to make arrangements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter escaped me a tiny bit, so I am so sorry that it is late.   
> Sorry, too, for those who follow me on Tumblr and were expecting to meet the young adult group in this update-- I promise it comes into the next one. This one just took a direction I hadn't originally planned for. Hope you enjoy it, anyway!


	8. Eight

His meeting of the childrens’ group was nothing at all like the meeting with the adults’ had been. Where that had been informal, more of him being thrown to the wolves, this was a great deal closer to a group session. 

There were no chairs in a circle, no one made to sit or to participate in any group discussions, but Doctor Rivera was present, and Loki couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t the only non-child resident present.  
First of all, the soldier was there as well, this time sitting not in his corner, but on the bench for the piano, almost like a challenge. Loki could feel the weight of his eyes on him, and he twitched his fingers almost unconsciously, reaching for protective magic in a gesture that sent a reminder of his emptiness echoing through him. 

The children themselves were few in number, only three, and not all that far off from being adults. Young adults was closer to the truth of the matter, really. 

There was a female, aloof, but with wide eyes, bright blue and curious, observant. She spoke to the others, but only under her voice, and seemed to want to stay closest to Doctor Rivera and the boy. She had the coloration and movements of the Vanir, graceful, pale, and cold.

The other girl, who spoke loudest of the three and was apparently named Cynthia, judging by Doctor Rivera’s comments toward her, had red hair kept short, freckles, and an air of innocence that did not entirely match her bearing or presence. She stood, walked, and moved in ways reminiscent of The Soldier more than of the other girl in the group. 

And the last one, the boy, was… unremarkable. He was not thin, nor large, nor muscled. He was neither taller nor shorter than average. His hair was light brown and he slumped and shuffled a bit, but he seemed to be the leader of their small circle. 

Loki looked to the doctor for guidance when he had taken silent stock of them all, and carefully avoided meeting The Soldier’s eyes.

She was watching him, too, and smiled in an attempt to reassure and encourage him, before raising her voice to address the others. 

"I know you all remember I mentioned you'd be meeting Loki today. He's still pretty new to the facility, so anything you can do to make him more comfortable would be really appreciated," she said, looking at all three in turn and even directing a brief glance at the soldier. 

"This is Sharon, that's Chris, and that's Cynthia," she introduced them, indicating to each in turn.

Cynthia, the boldest of the three, stepped forward.  
“Hi.” She said. “You’re that Loki, aren’t you? The one with the aliens?” 

Loki turned to glance at Doctor Rivera, more of an ‘I told you so’ than for permission. He raised his chin.  
“I am.” 

“Are you an alien, too? Or something else?” It was an almost childish line of questioning, but there was something underneath of it, an intelligent inquisition. He realized he had no idea why she was here, what she could possibly have done at her few years to deserve this sort of guarded rehabilitation. What any of them could have done. 

“I’m… something else. I was.” He held his hands up, empty and open, as if they were proof. “Now I’m just…” he let it trail off. Not human. Not Asgardian. Not Jotun. He glanced back up and saw that she’d gone stiff, scared, and was looking over at the boy, who was standing with his fist outstretched towards Loki. He wasn’t moving, but it seemed a threat just the same. Loki raised his hands higher and pulled them back from Cynthia, unsure what he could do to look less threatening. He shrank in his chair and looked over at the Doctor.

Talia, who had been following the exchange with interest, sharply turned her attention to the boy. "Chris.” There was a firm warning to her tone, but it wasn’t panicked. She sounded in control. More in control than it seemed to Loki that she actually was. Whatever the threat, it appeared to be based in power that, as far as he knew, she had no way of countering. “A lot has happened since the aliens, a lot of things have changed for Loki, just like a lot of things have changed for each of you," she informed them, though she slowly approached Chris, blocking his view of Loki and Loki’s view of him in the process.

"He's trying to figure out how to live and what to do with his life, Chris. Just like you are," she added quietly. "I promise it's okay."

Chris lowered his hand and nodded.  
“Sorry, Doctor.” He said finally. Begrudgingly, Loki thought.  
Chris stepped around her, then came right up to him, sticking his hands in his scrub pants’ pockets as he did so.  
“Sorry about that. I’m… used to people threatening me and my friends, still. It’s a hard habit to lose.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Not every raised hand is a weapon, I guess.” 

Loki looked down at where Chris’s hands disappeared into the material.  
“I have no weapons left to me. But I take it you do?” 

“They used to call me Melter. If it exists, I can make some form of liquid out of it, for the most part.” Chris looked like he was bracing for some sort of reaction, playing it off casually. Loki couldn’t tell if the boy was more used to fear or revulsion, but he refused to give him either. 

“It’s a worthy power to have. My… my brother,” he used, for lack of better way to explain their relationship, though he knew Thor would not appreciate the title now, “controls the thunder-- or, more accurately, the lightning. He lacks the subtlety of the melting, and simply burns things, sometimes to a vapor.” 

Chris gave a crooked half smile that could as easily have been a grimace, and jerked one shoulder in an awkward, almost dismissive motion.  
“I bet that’s not the easiest power to have either.” He volunteered, eyes twitching over to see if the Doctor was appeased by this exchange. Loki could already sense him trying to shuffle away from him.

Feeling a little more sure of his readings on the group, he turned his face back towards Cynthia, who had retreated ever so slightly.  
“Apologies, Ms. Cynthia. I did not intend that my gestures be taken as a threat.” 

“I knew they weren’t.” The pale haired girl spoke up, stepping forward to stand beside Cynthia, her voice high and clear and doing nothing to dissuade him of the notion that she was somehow Other in a way he hadn’t encountered before. She reminded him of something wild, the undertone of a growl beneath her crystalline voice.

“When you were in New York, you could walk and you were only a little scratched up on the news when they showed you beat, even though people saw the Hulk whomping you.You had a cut… just there” She moved closer, curious and feral, and pressed a gentle finger to the place he’d bled from, so long ago that he’d all but forgotten now.  
“You can’t heal any more.” She left a small scratch from her nail when she pulled her hand away, and took a step back, mouth set in a smirk that dared him to do something about it. 

Talia watched from where she stood, arms folded over her waist, but not looking especially perturbed now that they were moving past the incident. 

"Sharon's known to be very observant, if a little blunt about it," she remarked with a smile. "You'll hopefully grow used to it. Sharon, have you been working on anything today that you could show us? Oh, and, Bucky, you should say hello.” Doctor Rivera put a kind hand on Sharon’s small shoulder, and Loki couldn’t help but notice how Sharon leaned into it. The motion actually reminded him of a cat more than a human. 

“I’m not Bucky.” The Soldier said from his corner, in a ragged voice and even tone that suggested that, though he spoke rarely, this was what he said the most. He had repeated the words before, would again, and was tired of doing so after the first time.  
“Loki.” He said, probably by way of greeting, or at least acknowledgement. His eyes had snapped back to Loki’s face, and Loki returned the stare, refusing to lose even this most minor of battles.

“Soldier.” Loki returned. The man raised a brow pointedly, but didn’t otherwise react.  
A fine line formed between Rivera’s brows as Loki watched, and he wondered which of the two of them she was trying so hard not to address. He was sure he would hear at least his part of it during their private session the next day. 

“Well. Last week I had everyone put together a list of five songs each for me. This week I have CDs with those songs on them for you, and we’re going to take turns playing them. Now, you don’t have to talk about the songs and why you chose them, but I want each of you to think about what that song probably means to the person who chose it… and how that same song might relate to you, okay? We can share impressions after, but save the analyses for our independent sessions.” 

Loki saw the heads around the room bobbing. 

Doctor Rivera lifted a small purple electronic from under the table where the games sat, and plugged it in, before retrieving what Loki assumed were the CDs she’d spoken of. 

“This first one is Chris’s.” She said lightly, and closed the lid over the flat gleaming round. She pressed a button and a quiet strumming sound began, harsh but livable.  
“You have to listen to the first few loud.” Chris said, and Doctor Rivera gave him an encouraging nod and let him turn up the dial. Almost immediately a wave of noise crashed out of the speakers, followed by a full on blast as other noises layered in over the top of it. Loki gripped his wheelchair’s arms in shock. 

He’d heard some of Midgard’s music before, when Stark had come to Stuttgart, but he had assumed such monstrous noises were reserved for battles, much like the scores that heralded Thor’s training sessions were meant to drive the crowd to a frenzy, and the drums of war meant to strike fear into your enemies. 

This, it seemed, was fair game across the board, for he listened as a man wailed through the distortion about not knowing right from wrong, but knowing love.  
When the song ended, Loki had not relaxed yet. It was brutal, that music, and what he had caught of the lyrics through it didn’t help. The end, too, had had recordings of rain and thunder, and altogether he could honestly say it was an experience that he didn’t savor. 

The pale one, Sharon, laughed.  
“I like it.” She said simply, and curled herself into Chris’s side. 

Loki saw that despite having been the one who chose the song, Chris looked no calmer than he felt, but also that Sharon’s contact seemed to soothe him somewhat. The girl butted at him with her head, and he slid a distracted hand down her hair. To Loki’s court trained eye, they didn’t seem to be intimate in a romantic way. He seemed to be comfortable with her the way one would be with a younger sister or a pet--

Loki’s thoughts were cut short by a creaking sound followed by another onslaught. This time, he couldn’t even begin to tell what language it was in. Occasional words made sense, but then were promptly lost again. The rest of Chris’s choices, it turned out, followed this pattern. 

When they had reached the end, Loki took a deep breath, finding himself horribly relieved. 

“Cynthia? What did you think?” Doctor Rivera prompted. 

Cynthia sat on the other side of Sharon, all three of the younger members of the group crowded onto the same couch. She wrinkled her nose distastefully.  
“Shouty. You’re not like that all the time, though. That’s only part of you. Fifteen percent, tops.” 

Chris reached around Sharon and ruffled Cynthia’s hair.  
“Thanks squirt,” he said, and she made a noise before pulling away and fighting to fix her hair. 

“Weirdo emo music junkie.” She shot back, though it seemed more affectionate than offensive.

“James? What are your thoughts?” 

“I’m not James. That’s not music.” The Soldier shrugged, clearly finished with the conversation, and probably this entire session, too. 

“Just because it’s not what you’re used to doesn’t mean it isn’t also a valid form of music.” Doctor Rivera said gently. But she seemed to know she wasn’t getting any more out of him. He wasn’t even looking at her any more, his eyes trained on the piano to his left instead.  
She sighed.  
“Sharon?” She prompted.  
“Pretty wild.” Sharon said, bumping her shoulder against Chris’s arm. “But you’re steadier than that. You just feel like screaming sometimes, huh?” 

Chris’s eyes darted from her face to Rivera’s, and then, inexplicably, to Loki’s. 

“I guess.” He mumbled. 

Talia smiled. 

“Loki?” She asked, then hesitated. “I… don’t know much about music on Asgard…” 

“It felt a bit like being flayed by noise. I can see how that could be therapeutic, though. Cleansing.” Chris nodded at that. Doctor Rivera pressed her hands together, almost a clapping motion, but softer. 

“Good! Very good. Sharon, shall we do yours next?” 

Sharon shrugged and Doctor Rivera put the disc in. 

“Now, you didn’t actually have titles for this first one, so I’m not entirely sure if it’s what you had in mind. If not, just let me know, and we can skip it.” The doctor said, before pressing play. 

A buzzing drone filled the air, holding a single note for a long moment before modulating into a series of plosive sounding yips. There was a hollowness to it, but also a very strange energy. It felt like the vibrations from the hum were under his skin. Loki liked it. 

It sounded almost like some of the more traditional horns, the ones made of actual horn, that were sometimes employed during hunts… but different, too. More brittle. 

Sharon’s fingers twitched, drawing a rhythm, all but drumming against her leg. Loki suspected that if she were alone, she would be dancing. It made him want to dance, too, reminded him of the pulse of magic driving in counterpoint to the pulse of his heart beat. Running through landscapes fraught with trees, avoiding those you could and ricocheting off of those you couldn’t.  
It was wild. It fit her. 

When it ended there was only a brief lull, and then the next song began-- a single, high voice, crystal clear and pure, not completely unlike Sharon’s own, raised over soft notes, again a pulsing sort of sound… the words were in another language, another branch of the early humans’ speech. He followed enough of it to understand that it spoke of the beast within. A man’s voice followed the higher one, the words growled out over a driving beat.  
It was different, completely, from the first, but also somehow made sense in the context of Sharon. 

There was no unifying sound on her CD. The songs were wild and frantic or yearning or calming. The only thing they shared was the pulse that seemed to run through them. Different instruments, but every song had a heartbeat. 

When it ended, no one seemed to know quite what to say. Cynthia rubbed at the crown of Sharon’s head and her eyes opened to small slits, seemingly in a state of bliss. She had begun purring faintly, and suddenly everything clicked into place. The girl was a cat. Or very like a cat. In fact-- Loki’s eyes widened as he realized that the girl had a tail. How had he missed--? It must have been hidden in her clothing. 

“The German one was good. More… loud. Than I maybe would have liked. But.” The Soldier spoke falteringly. 

Doctor Rivera looked pleasantly surprised that he had volunteered as much.  
“Very good. Anyone else?” 

No one spoke up, so she pulled out the second to last CD. 

“I just wanted to say that if anyone doesn’t like it, I totally understand. But the rec room TV was left on for a history of the Tonys day, so.” Cynthia shrugged. 

Doctor Rivera nodded reassuringly.  
“No one is going to like you less for subjecting them to show tunes.” 

“I might.” Chris muttered, and Cynthia smacked him with a pillow, moving Sharon in the process and making her stretch in annoyance and sprawl out over both of her peers’ laps.

The songs began and each featured some young girl singing about her expectations for the future, her hopes and goals… they were patently charming, and reminded Loki of nothing so much as the girls making their court premieres, all careful masks of delicacy hiding their strengths. And perhaps that was what Cynthia was-- so far he had only seen the mask, save for the sharp edges in her eyes. 

“Don’t worry-- when you’re ready you’ll get to leave, and probably have the normalest life of all of us.” Sharon said sleepily, her words muffled by a yawn. She reached up and patted Cynthia’s shoulder, and Cynthia smiled down at her. 

“You said you found these recently… I wonder what you listened to before that discovery?” Loki asked, wondering if there may be some clue to why she was here.

Cynthia looked over at Doctor Rivera before answering.  
“I… don’t remember. I don’t remember much before coming here, at all. Just being here, and so that’s it.” She crossed her arms over herself, sinking in a little, and Loki frowned, realizing this was the second time today that he had caused her in particular to shrink away from him. 

Before he could apologize, though, Doctor Rivera held up the final disc. 

“Bucky? I found those songs that you remembered the parts of. You ready to hear them?” 

Bucky shrugged, an impressive feat when Loki’s eye fell on the intricately articulated metal arm that sprang from, it seemed, around the area of his shoulder. It seemed to not move at all, even the smallest of shocks thoroughly absorbed by its shifting mass.  
He realized that he was staring, though, and had the good grace to pull his eyes away. But not before seeing that his gaze hadn’t escaped Bucky’s attention. Fortunately it was diverted before too much longer. 

The first recording began with a whirling sound. There was a clicking and then the song began, somehow more distant and less vivid than the others. It had a croon to it, something throatier than the voices in the other tracks he’d heard, and Loki saw The Soldier stiffen.  
A man’s voice, soft and with a warble to it began telling the story of his love, and Loki found his lips tugged into a small smile at the improbable gentleness of this compared to the man who recalled it.  
The next had that same tone, the far off sound, and talked about some gal, five foot two and blue eyed. Then another song, which wanted to know who told the listener that the singer cared. 

The Soldier’s CD was much briefer than the others’ had been, and when it was over he didn’t look as pleased with himself nor as relaxed as the others had. Instead his eyes looked dead, and his brow looked furrowed. 

Doctor Rivera was watching him closely.  
“James, were those the songs you remembered?” 

“They’re.. familiar. I know them. But not…” He looked… angry, upset, and he shook his head. “I don’t remember.” It was nearly growled, and Loki could feel how wary everyone in the room became. 

“Nothing to apologize for.” She told him, and removed the CD. 

The room was quiet and tense, and the others’ discomfort only seemed to make The Soldier more uncomfortable. Loki didn’t want to see what such discomfort may lead to, in this man.

“Well, I haven’t any kinship to the music of your realm, but if I may?” Loki gestured at the Soldier, and it took him a moment to catch on before he stood hastily, then another moment before he lifted the stool and pulled it away. 

Loki wheeled himself in front of the piano, and found his chair to be lower than ideal for playing, but he shrugged.  
“I apologize in advance. It has been some time and my fingers have been broken and repaired frequently since.” He said it as mildly as he could, flexing his fingers to quell the nerves that he felt. 

The keys felt cool and familiar beneath his fingertips, and though he was stiffer than he would like, he still kept his timing and hit the notes he needed. He spared a glance back to the majority of the group, visible from the corner of his eye. The Doctor and the children were watching him with rapt attention. He could not see the soldier, but for the moment he put him from his mind. 

He found his rhythm, and though he knew that the songs he knew were better suited to deeper voices than his, and stronger instruments than this, he began to sing. 

He could not, with his higher, reedier voice, make the song as driven as it was meant to be, but he instead turned it lilting, almost a mockery of the intent, as he spoke of the worries of man and how the seasons rendered them pointless. Rather than a song about how any one could fight the pull of the tides, it became a joke on those who thought they could. Not that any here would understand it, but if they could, it would be as apt a summary as women pretending to be girls protesting their modesty, as a soldier’s songs of love, of a calm boy’s songs about losing control.  
The only one of them to not have been ironic and snide in their choices was Sharon, and it was her who now rose to her feet and moved over nearer him, to begin swaying to the song.  
But he was so close to the end now that he did not want to have made her efforts vain. 

As that song wound to a close, he paused just for a moment.  
“I once was a God, and this was my tribute from one of your people.” 

This they could understand, and though he wasn’t sure of the origin of half of the tales that inspired the lyrics, just the same he appreciated it. It encapsulated him well enough, his bitterness, his pride. His disappointment. 

Sharon didn’t know how to take this new music, and Loki felt himself growing shaky as he put his fervor into the words, and all too soon it was over. He didn’t know if he should say any more, wasn’t sure that he wanted to hear what here might say of it. 

He looked up at Rivera, but she was looking beyond him, behind him. Loki turned, alarmed, reminded that he hadn’t paid attention to The Soldier throughout his impromptu recital.He faced him, certain that he would look towards rage. Instead, he saw tears sliding soundlessly down The Soldier’s cheeks. 

“We done for the day?” Chris asked, breaking the spell with his nervous question. No one seemed comfortable with watching so fearsome a man reduced to tears, and Loki surmised this was the first time he had been. It didn’t bode well for The Soldier’s liking of him at all. Loki knew he personally loathed being shown to be weak before any sized gathering, and could not imagine the other being any different. 

“Yes, of course.” Doctor Rivera said. “Go ahead and stick to your schedules, whatever’s next.” She sounded shaken, and Loki didn’t move as the Soldier set the bench down again beside Loki’s chair. 

He didn’t grace the tears on his face with acknowledgement, but when Loki grasped his wheels to move away, to head back to his room, The Soldier took his hand, grip gentle and warm and that was almost as much a shock as the contact in the first place. 

“You play well.” The Soldier told him. “I think-- I feel like I may have played, once. Will you… show me?” The words seemed to struggle free of his mouth, and Loki looked to the Doctor for guidance. She could only shrug. 

“If you like.” Loki responded, his mind on The Captain and his promise to return. Surely if he intended to keep it, he would be here already. Loki wasn’t missing out on anything by not being in his room. 

He took hold of both of the Soldier’s hands, and pressed his fingertips to the keys, the texture of the silver hand not dissimilar to the surface his fingers rested on. He didn’t comment on that though, instead gently depressing each key in turn and naming the sounds they made. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Doctor Rivera leave, giving them the room. 

He couldn’t gather enough fear, though, to call himself afraid. Not with the Soldier’s attention so fixed on the sounds they were making. 

He was a quick study.  
************

When Steve came back the next day, he felt a lot better. It was so easy to have a horribly bleak outlook when one was exhausted, but once rested, refreshed, fed and debriefed, he had a better handle on things. 

Or he did, until he followed the silent pointed directions of the lady at the front desk into a rec room, where Loki in his wheelchair was seated next to Bucky on a bench, and all four of their hands were on the keys of the piano. 

He lingered in the doorway, watching as Loki corrected a finger’s placement and they ran through that set of notes again. Bucky’s face was open in a way he hadn’t seen it since before the war, and Loki seemed similarly unguarded. 

Knowing as he did how long it had been since either of them had had the chance not to be worrying about the future and those surrounding them, he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt. 

He backed away, careful not to draw attention to himself, and instead found himself face to face with Talia.  
She pressed her finger to her lips and gestured that he should follow her. 

Back in her office, she sat down.  
“So, I take it you saw. What do you think?”

Steve paced back and forth a little before settling into the chair.  
“I’m glad Bucky’s talking to someone, if not me… but I’m still not sure… I trust Loki to an extent, I trust him enough to spend time with him, to be around him… But Bucky just got rid of someone’s hold on his mind. Even with just his words he’s got the potential to-- And with Bucky’s strength and Loki’s intelligence, there’s not much that could keep them here.” Steve felt his shoulders aching from being pulled up defensively, and made a conscious effort to relax them. 

“Except that Loki knows he needs medical help. He keeps trying to push himself to be better, faster. I don’t think he knows the boundaries of his body yet. He expects to be able to heal like an Asgardian or a…” She flipped into her notes for a moment, “Jotun, or at least not like a human. I think until he is at least able to walk on his own, the risk for their leaving should be relatively small. But speaking of that, would you like to talk about anything Loki told you yesterday? Particularly in regards to his treatment here?” 

“I’m interested to hear exactly what your plan is for him. He seems to think he’s being neglected save for when I intercede on his behalf.” Steve leaned forward, watching her carefully, trying to judge just how honest she was going to be.

She pursed her lips, organizing her thoughts, and maybe it was just from being around Tony too much, but he appreciated someone who thought before they spoke. 

“I admit that we have been taking things a little slow with him. We want to be sure he isn’t going to cause harm to any of the other residents, so we’ve been exposing him to small, stable test groups. The problem is that for his walk therapy for example, he will need to be in a common room, where other patients, some in much worse shape than he, will need to be as well. I needed to see if he could work first with the trainer, and then I was interested to see how he reacted to you seeing him-- he felt humiliated by his state, ashamed. I need to know he won’t lash out at others who see him that way.”

“He handled me seeing him in his braces with… dignity, actually. Hell, he handled it better than I probably would, and I don’t mind saying so. You can’t hold that against him, and use it to keep him from making progress.” 

“Captain, has it occured to you that you are instantly taking the side of the lesser informed person in what I didn’t even realize was an issue until he said something to you? He has spoken to several other people while here, and each of them has a different perception of the man. We only see what he wants us to see of him-- for you, he projects a silent strength, behind victimized dignity. Does it worry you that he may be playing on your sympathies?”

“Does it worry you that you’re playing on his reputation?” Steve fired back before he could stop himself, but he immediately registered what he’d said, and felt horrified by it. “I’m sorry. I just, I’m always on the side of the little guy, and right now that’s Loki.” He wasn’t sure he could explain any more than that why he felt responsible.

“Do you need me to pull up news footage from just a couple of years ago? I think there’s a clip out there of you comparing him to Hitler. And what about James? Who’s on his side?” She sounded defensive, and Steve tried to reel himself back-- he didn’t need to put her on edge, and he didn’t mean to.

“I’m not excusing what he’s done. But he’s paid for that in ways that… ways that no one should have to. And besides, what harm can he do while under surveillance?” It was largely rhetorical, he had a feeling if Loki wanted to manipulate a situation, surveillance or not wouldn’t matter. He’d certainly come this far without doing anything that set off any real alarm in Steve’s mind, and yet… things were working out really neatly for him. And it hurt to think that way, when Steve was fighting for Loki’s life to be easier, but…

“Bucky still has a gaping hole in his mind labelled Master, and Loki is someone who is used to being treated like royalty or more. I’m worried that the two will fit together in ways that won’t do any good for either of them.”

“Then why were they allowed to meet, to interact? Surely they could have been kept apart.” 

“Because Bucky is given wandering allowance, since being locked up… well you’ve seen how he reacts. He chose to sit in on Loki’s first group meeting, or else the first group meeting just happened to take place in a room he was in at the time, though I suspect it’s the former. As for today, I told him he could come if he wanted. He gets along well with the younger ones. And I wanted someone else there, just in case Loki didn’t get on with the kids.”

“So you allowed them to interact, you wanted Bucky to make a friend, you wanted Loki to find someone other than me to talk to. Sounds like you hit two birds with one stone. Obviously watch them, but I just don’t see how worrying and over thinking a situation that hasn’t arisen yet is going to help anything. The Loki that you have here is not the same one that tried to take over New York. Not really. The world’s beaten humility into him, and taught him fear. And Bucky…. Bucky had it ripped out of him. Maybe the two of them will balance one another out.”  
He felt like a crazy man, encouraging this, but at the same time… it made a certain amount of strange sense. 

He just wished he knew what it was that Loki had that made Bucky want to spend time with him, and wished he knew how to give himself more of that.

****  
“Thank you.” The Soldier stopped playing suddenly, his words starting across the fading notes. 

“You’re welcome.” Loki didn’t ask what for. If the man wanted to expound upon it, he would; it seemed unkind to ask for more from one disinclined towards words. Instead, he said, “I think you must have been right; you must have played before, whether you recall or not. Your hands do.” 

“My hand.” The Soldier looked down at his silvered palm and closed it like the sight offended him. 

“Hands.” Loki insisted. “I do not know the technology of your realm, but when that of ours has failed in the past, for one reason or another, the best that one could have was a stiff piece of forged metal or carved wood. Yours bends where you will it, it is part of you now, as are all of the things you have done.” He could only deal in vagueries for the moment, but he was certain if he was careful with it, he could learn more. 

“What I’ve done?” The soldier went stiff, ready for a fight-- or to flee-- and Loki could only look back at him as levelly as possible, and hope that the handlers were close enough at hand that his missteps might not prove fatal. “What do you know about what I’ve done?” The words were low and dangerous.

“Next to nothing. Only that you are here, and would not be if you hadn’t done something.” He spread his hands, palms up, mindful not to direct them at The Soldier after Chris’s reaction. “If I may-- the Captain comes to see you, doesn’t he?” Loki was hoping to discern some sort of schedule for Rogers’ visits.  
“No. He comes to see him. Bucky.” The Soldier nearly spat the name, and Loki winced at the fire in his voice. The other man noticed, though, and raised his flesh hand in a settling motion. “I’m sorry.” He was level again, calm. 

“The Captain comes for the you he remembers… but why not pretend for him? He is a powerful man, a good man, and you could make your life much easier by simply appeasing him.” Loki kept himself sounding upbeat, trying to keep the dark suggestion from seeping into his tone.

“He wants Bucky, not me. Bucky doesn’t exist any more. I don’t know the things Bucky should know. I keep waiting for him to realize that his friend is gone. But.” The Soldier stopped. 

“But?” Loki asked, cautious and prying but only gently. He didn’t want The Soldier’s ire, but that was the first time that he had heard any emotion at all, in that small ‘but’, and he felt like he would gain some power in knowing what lay behind it. 

The Soldier just shook his head, and Loki pressed on, afraid for what this man could do to him, but growing more and more sure that he wouldn’t.

“But you also fear that day, don’t you? Because if he leaves, what will happen to you?” He hazarded a guess, thinking of his own situation. The Soldier, though, just shook his head again. 

“I’m not Bucky, I don’t… have all of Bucky.” He tapped at his head forlornly. “But I know him, I have… shadows of memories of him. I know his face, what it looks like when he is disappointed. I remember that hurt. I don’t… He makes you want to not disappoint.”

Loki found himself nodding sympathetically, his mind whirling as he digested this. 

What a pair, the two of them. He, who knew too much of himself, and the soldier who knew too little. 

“I understand what you mean. Something about him does make one wish to be… better, somehow.” Loki reached a hesitant hand outwards and clapped the other man gently on his back, a gesture of solidarity. The Soldier didn’t acknowledge his touch, but neither did he bat it away. Silence fell, and Loki began to think that was it, and their time together would be at its end.

“I could pretend.” He said suddenly, and Loki scrambled to guess where the soldier’s mind had gone. “To be Bucky.” He clarified. “Let him call me that, remember as much as I could, fake what I couldn’t. But I don’t deserve-- I’d end up making him regret caring. Trying. And he might not try for someone who does deserve it.” For the first time, The Soldier sounded fully human, and Loki imagined that he sounded like a shadow of who he had been.

Loki froze, stricken through the chest as if with the blades his kin forged around their blue fisted hands.  
“Yes.” He heard himself agree faintly. “You’re probably right.” 

******  
When Loki finally wheeled himself out of the piano room, there was only one handler in the hallway, and he was waiting to take him back to his room. 

Loki didn’t speak to him, too busy running through the thoughts jumbling in his mind. He was surprised, then, to come into his room and see the Captain stretched out on his bed again.  
At first he thought he was asleep, and had to smother a surge of annoyance. But Rogers sat up the moment the door was closed behind him. 

“Are you feeling better?” Loki asked, trying to cover his surprise with politeness. He hadn’t really thought the Captain would keep his word and be here again already.

“Yeah, thanks. And sorry again about yesterday. It won’t happen again.” Rogers looked properly abashed, and Loki felt himself relaxing. 

“I hope you weren’t waiting long. I seem to have unwittingly become piano instructor for--” Loki bit off the end of the sentence, aware that he didn’t know how the Captain felt about the Soldier, nor how comfortable he might be with two of his friend-foes interacting. It could quickly become complex, and Loki has not yet had the time to untangle it.  
“Dr. Rivera introduced me to a new group today.” He said instead, “And I played for them.”

“I didn’t even know you had pianos in Asgard. Somehow the world seems more… archaic than that, no offense.” Rogers seemed more interested in the what than the who; Loki was glad.

“None taken. I’m not truly of Asgard, and my early interest in delicate instruments makes that ever more apparent. No, Asgardians forge weapons and some cruder apparatuses, but my piano I traded for from the dwarves. They are particularly fine craftsmen, capable of incredible detail, which seems in direct contrast for their thick fingers, but there you are.” He shrugged. 

“I haven’t been here long, no. Or, I have, I’ve just been talking to your therapist.” 

“Ah. I suppose she is encouraging you to urge me to form attachments to the other knaves here, that I mightn’t rely so much on you.” Loki leaned his elbow on the armrest and cupped his chin in his hand. 

“She wants you to be able to interact with other people, people that you don’t necessarily have as much reason to be… inclined to be kind to. Wants to be sure you aren’t going to cause anyone harm if you’re allowed the freedom to roam around the house that some of the other residents have.” The Captain paused, weighing his words, before he ventured a question. “Have you made any friends here, yet?”

“The woman Marsha is kind. And I have had limited dealings with a few others.” He was evading and Loki could tell by his face that the Captain knew something. He sighed.  
“I have spent time with your old friend, Captain. The Soldier.”

“Please don’t call him that.” Rogers sounded upset by it, and his face didn’t hide the reaction he had, a heavy grimace causing his eyes to go shuttered. 

“He dislikes James and Bucky and Barnes. So I have been told. The others will not call him anything at all-- I think out of fear. But I do not believe I have cause to fear him. Do you?” Loki felt as though he were balancing on the edge of a mountain. One wrong move, one slip, and he might lose everything. 

“I don’t… it’s hard for me to say. I know Bucky. I’ve seen The Winter Soldier in action. But he’s not really one or the other, right now.” 

“No, he’s both. And neither. And I think he fights that. He needs someone who does not expect from him answers that he does not yet have.” Loki shrugged, rubbing his fingers, which were sore from splaying over the keys.

“Thank you.” The Captain said suddenly. “For talking to him.” The Captain stood. 

“I should head back.” Loki could hear the dejection, the sad sort of resignation in the man’s voice. “It’s a long drive and I have an early appointment with Tony about getting you a phone made.”

Loki watched him leave, hoping that the jealousy the Captain felt at his closeness to The Soldier now would not cause a rift between them. If anything, he hoped it would bring them closer. And any nudging that he could do to bring The Soldier closer to his Captain would be that much closer he would come to escaping from the shadow of his debt to Rogers. 

He would have been more than happy to have the quiet time, to sit and stew and muse his way through the spiderweb of interpersonal interactions he now found himself tangled in, but The Captain couldn’t have been gone for more than a few minutes when one of the orderlies rapped sharply on his door, then opened it without any pause for him to call permission.  
He scowled at the intrusion. 

“Doctor Rivera wants to see you. If you’ll come this way please.” It was the one who had brought his lunch, the boy that Rogers had nearly snapped at. That hardly softened his opinion of his manners. 

“I will. Though consideration and observation of privacy will garner you more cooperation in the future than barging into my presence will.” He kept his tone mild but his face betrayed his ire, and he made certain to roll the wheel of his chair over Travis’s toe on his way out the door.  
He smiled tightly at the hiss of pain behind him, and saw himself to his therapist’s office, delivering a knock of his own before Travis could catch up.

Talia opened the door a moment later, stepping back to allow Loki inside. "I'm sorry for the impromptu session," she apologized before walking over to take her usual seat. "I felt it necessary, given Steve Rogers's visits. I won't keep you long, I promise."

“I can hardly say it was unexpected, though your errand boy could learn a lesson in courtesy.” He moved to his usual place in her office, then crossed his arms over his chest, aware that he was about to be reprimanded, and already interested to see the form that it would take.  
“So, about The Good Captain’s visits. Did you fear they would make me instable? Or was there something else on your mind?” He smiled, a challenge, inviting her to blunder into the arguments he had already prepared.

"I'll be sure to say something to him," she noted with a quirk of her eyebrow. "As for Rogers, I thought it might help your rehabilitation if he were to visit. I'm curious to know how you're doing now that he's gone."

“I am sure you are.” This was not what he was expecting. Strangely, for such short lived creatures, humans were overly fond of verbal foreplay, and never quick to cut to the point. Still, he supposed he was one of them now. When in Midgard, and so on, as it were.  
“I have not yet had time to consider my feelings on the subject.” He answered truthfully. “I am...glad, I suppose, that he did as he said and come back again today, but I think I would feel more at ease had he set a return date.” He shrugged, disregarding his own statement. “Still I know he will return, sooner or later. That alone is of some comfort.” 

"Good. I think that's a decent improvement from how things were before," she concluded, before sitting up a bit straighter. "I had the chance to sit down with the Captain and discuss your stay here so far. I know you've been unhappy with the way things are run here, though I've tried to do what I can... Would it be all right if we talked about some of the things you told him?" 

He felt his face burn hot then go cold, and battled down the sting of betrayal while trying to remind himself that even had Rogers not given away his confidences, they likely would have heard about them from recordings-- and there was nothing to say they hadn’t, but were refusing to say so.  
“I realize my words are not private, regardless of the means of delivery, but if I had been interested in talking with you, I would have. Frankly, I have no reason to air those grievances to any in the employ of this house.” 

"Loki, I am trying to help you," she replied, frustration evident in her tone in spite of herself. "But it's very difficult to know how if you won't talk to me about what you need. I know we make mistakes, but if you genuinely believe you're being mistreated, I need to hear it from you so we can discuss ways to improve your situation."

“It is hard to consider oneself mistreated coming out of torture and medical trauma, however I do feel the intent of this house has been vastly misrepresented. You act as though I am to be a patient here, but treat me like a prisoner, without the perks of either position. In truth I am both, but your facility cannot seem to decide where I sit on the scale. Am I to be held like a hostage, or am I to be healed? Do I get treatment and food, or placed in a room and ignored, but observed? Are you trying to drive me mad through isolation and by reminding me of my past, recreating what little you know of my situations, or are you going to thrust me into the company of my fellow prisoners and patients? You trust me enough to be around villains, even children, but not around your doctors. And you say you wish me to heal, but the things which would best aid in that are denied to me. When The Captain does return, you do not know how to act around me. Am I his friend and your guest or his enemy and your hostage? Until you decide, what am I to do but sit and think uncharitably of the hypocrisy of your planet’s care? And am I to be allowed no way to express my dissatisfaction without being called to trial for it?”

"I admit that your stay here has thrown our facility into a state of disarray. Most of our residents aren't nearly so high profile or... controversial," she replied after a moment. "It's a struggle trying to balance what's best for you and what S.H.I.E.L.D. believes is best for everyone. I am doing my best to speed up your transition to standard resident, but there's only so much I can do. And I can’t change or fix things if I don’t know there is a problem."

“And what is it that S.H.I.E.L.D. fears I will do? And how is there any balance? I feel myself being tugged in so many directions at once-- rest but exert yourself, you’re to be confined away from the world, but go meet people, it feels very much at your whim and at your mercy, and at this rate I’m not sure whether to hope for or be afraid of the day I’m punished by having some of this taken away.” He bit his lower lip, recalling Rogers’s words about how they would not punish him by removing his basic needs. “I do not like being in a state of flux. I don’t like not knowing the rules I am playing by, the ground I am standing on, as it were… And I don’t appreciate being told I am deserving of care and then kept from it. Yours are supposed to be a lesser cruel people. And most of all, I do not appreciate having no room for myself. You give me no chance to heal my body until I make demands that it be so. And you give me no chance to try and allow my mind to heal without poking at it. I have no choice, no chance, and no say as to what is best for me.”

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, but pressed on anyway. "S.H.I.E.L.D...is afraid that you might find ways to hurt people that they've yet to see. We're taking that Captain's judgment into consideration, of course, but even that's not enough to satisfy everyone," she answered. "The things that I have designated necessary to your recovery, the group interactions, the Captain's visits, even your books, those are a part of your rehabilitation." She sighed. 

"All right. Tell me, Loki, what do you think is best for you? What would help you most here?"

“The ability to choose when I see people.” He answered promptly. “As it is I only have the ability to see others during small windows of opportunity. If I don’t feel like it, I can elect not to, but I never know the next time it will be offered to me, and there is always the fear of your deciding that I am no longer ‘trying’, and electing to suddenly change all of my circumstances. So I am offered brief chances at interaction that I feel I must take, regardless of how I feel at the time, lest I lose them, and at other times I cannot stand the silence, the isolation. Food, real food, on regular schedules. Enough food to allow me to stop looking like the wraith I have become. A comprehensive schedule and a means of measurement. Even in the cells of Asgard, even in the hands of the Chitauri, I was allowed to mark to passage of time. Here, I cannot tell you how long it has been, when it is, unless my stomach has begun to ache and my mouth to water like a pet made ready to eat. Access to space to stretch, to walk or roll, but just move. Access to information about my immediate surroundings-- or the area I am to be set loose upon, if and when it is decided I may be set loose. I could be preparing for what future is afforded me, rather than falling into stagnation.”

"We can do a clock and calendar, make sure you have your schedule to keep track of a week ahead of time," she said easily. "Our twice-weekly sessions are, for all intents and purposes, written in stone. You can choose when to receive visitors and when to participate in group, though the latter has to be at least twice a week as well. I’ll give you a list of days and times that your approved groups meet during." She paused, obviously thinking. "I'll speak to the dietician and we'll get your food sorted out. Maybe we can move you up to easily digestable blended foods. And as for giving you exercise, you have to understand that I am not yet sure of how you will react under the pressures that physical therapy will put you under. I can’t have you upsetting others in worse positions than you are, accidentally or otherwise. I can give you pre-scheduled, supervised sessions in our therapy room. But the only time I can guarantee you privacy would be at night, after the rest of the residents are in bed. We can move your eating schedule forward to compensate and give you more time to sleep, if that works for you?"

Loki listened, a scowl etching itself deeper and deeper on his face.  
“If you insist upon these meetings, fine. But I am not a small bird, to be fed premasticated sup. I am a Prince, whatever else. I was a King. And I will not have any more of your less than standard fare. Even those who live on your streets feed upon better, when they do feed. Your half measures irk me most of all-- either feed me or do not. No more of the level of fare I have been provided thus far will pass my lips, so if you persist on it, you may as well not waste your time and that of your chefs.” That said, he tapped his lips. “Nothing I can say will convince you of my intent to cause none here harm, will it? I should suppose not. You have my word, just the same, for all the stock you may put in it. If the only way I am to progress in my strength building is in the night like a shameful secret, then that is how it must be.”

She sighed, glad that he's somewhat accepting of the other compromises, at least. "You have a human's digestive system, Loki, a system that has to be treated with care for the time being. Your meals aren't meant as an insult, they're a health measure."

“A health measure.” He mocked. “Do I appear healthy to you? Do I even look like anything more than a skeleton surrounded by metal? My body cannot keep itself together when I stand without being encased in your medical trappings. And none of that will change until I begin taking in more sustenance, regardless of my digestive system. One’s stomach expands the more one eats, surely the ability to eat expands as well, and doctor, I am famished.” Something about the statement felt oddly threatening, and he supposed she might suspect he meant to devour her, but really he just wanted to make his point.

"Your meal plan was decided by a dietician, someone who looked at your tests and determined what your body needed. Maybe you can move up to soft solids but I doubt much more than that," she informed him, shaking her head. 

“Ah yes, another of your specialists whom I am far too dangerous to be allowed to speak to. I wonder, how effective can this dietician’s guesses be, if they have never so much as shared a room with me? And what’s more, if you have such a person on staff, who are you to be making such decisions? I want to speak to this person. I am tired of runny soups and bread made of air, which leave me aching and yearning for something to effectively fill the gaping void that my stomach has become. I keep expecting to lift my shirt and find myself developing Jonathan’s spots.” He tossed out the snide reminder that he had done what she wanted, spoken to others-- he felt he was owed this at least, and he would not take her excuses. Health measures, indeed. Were humans truly so backwards as not to understand the concept that if a man is starving, one should feed him?

She'd done her best to patient so far, but it was obvious that she was quickly reaching the point where she just wanted to move past this at any cost. "All right. Fine. She can tell you the same thing I've told you, maybe you'll listen to her. I'll ask if she has time for a visit tomorrow." The ‘Happy?’ was loudly implied. 

He crossed his arms smugly.  
“I’m sure The Captain will be glad to hear it. Would you be so kind as to send him one of the missives that he spoke of, alerting him to this development? I’m certain he will sleep better knowing that his ward is being so cared for.” 

“I’ll be happy to contact him for you, if that’s really what you want. I can’t guarantee when he’ll answer, or how long before he’ll come back for another visit, but I’m happy to make sure he gets anything you want him to have.” 

“Excellent. I suppose, then, if that’s all you wanted…?” He braced his arms in preparation to make his way out of the room, feeling for once as if he had come out on top in this encounter.

“Actually, there is one more thing, Loki. I need you to work on something for me. Do you mind?”

“That will depend, of course.” Loki told her simply, one brow arched in bored inquisition. 

“I need you to make a real effort towards not using your words, or actions to manipulate people into doing things they don’t want to. I know that sounds like a tall order, but I promise that just asking would suffice.” 

“Why Doctor Rivera,” Loki said, affecting a scandalized tone, “Do you know, you sound just like my father?” His voice and eyes grew hard, and he clutched at his wheels, jerking himself to face away from her.  
“Until next time, Doctor.” He trilled, the title sounding more like a slur from his lips. 

The doors opened for him easily, and in the hall he nearly bumped into Spot. 

“Heya Loki, nice to see you out and about.” Spot said, and Loki couldn’t help but stare, as he watched the man’s jaw move and the dark hole in his face elongate. It felt almost as if it were drawing him in, the blackness so complete. 

Spot cleared his throat nervously, breaking the spell.  
“See you in group again two days from now?” 

“I suppose you shall.” Loki said, thoughts dazed feeling and distant, and with that he began to wheel away back to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The group therapy session that I wrote was not based on any group activity that I could find information about online-- there was nothing that came up in my research that really worked for what I wanted, so my apologies for taking liberties. That said, the idea sprang from traditional play therapy, aged up into something that young adults would identify with better than dolls.
> 
> Update: I posted some information about the update schedule for I Know No I over at [ my blog](http://mostfacinorous.tumblr.com/post/88214433898/people-who-are-following-me-for-i-know-no-i).


	9. Nine

“Broiled steak of whatever creature is the richest, thick grains, and butter from here to the afterlife.” He said, not a request at all, but a demand. His stomach growled in counterpoint, and he raised a challenging eyebrow.

“Out of the question.” The woman that had come in, claiming to be his dietician, was shaking her head, frustration showing in the lines of her body. They’d been going at this for some time now, and the more she refused him foods, the more lavish his demands became.

“Out of your abilities as a chef, perhaps-- come, all I asked for was a meal with true meat and other things that need chewing. My teeth are whole, you see.” He gave her a close toothed grimace, showing them off and feeling simultaneously like a wild animal. “If you cannot give me steak, then perhaps ocean shellfish, made in wine and pungent cheeses, served beside the roe of their neighbors and a salad of aquatic plants in acidic fruit juices.” He paused, letting her understand what he was requesting-- he knew he lacked her words for some of the things he demanded, but he did understand that these things were available. “The Captain-- Rogers, that is, my protector, Captain America… would be most appreciative if you did as I asked.” He’d tried insults, threats, cajoling, switching tactics so quickly he had been able to all but see her head spinning. This proved to be the final straw, so to speak.

“You know what? You want a feast, I’ll give you a feast. I’ll make you your damn steak.” Somehow it sounded as if it was an attempt at a threat, but Loki was delighted.

“See? Now wasn’t that easy? You really ought to consider listening more and fighting less; it would have saved us all some time.” He looked at his newly installed clock, and gave her a grin. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere now?” He refrained from directly ordering her back to the kitchens; perhaps had she been a man, but his moth-- Frigga-- had taught him that the cheap, easy insults were the least worthy of use. That lesson may have been many lifetimes ago, but it stuck with him.

Instead he watched her blanch with the realization of the truth of his words, and hurry forth.

Dinner that night was magnificent.

He could not eat all of it, for he found himself full quickly, and there wasn’t a large portion on his plate, but the flavors of fatty meat and butter, gravy and rich, heavy seasonings… it tasted, for a moment, like an echo of banquet halls lit by thundering fires, tasted of long forgotten jollity. Home.

But of course, like all else in life, it turned on him quickly, until he was unable to rise to go to his group session, unable to leave the room for his promised aid in becoming more active. All he could do was curl in on himself on his bed and let the cramps roll through him as his body fought to digest the food that it had not, in truth, been ready to receive.

When the door opened again, this time to admit Doctor Rivera, Loki grimaced.

“Have you come to gloat?” He bit out, mindful of the grimace that he wore and the sweat that stained his pillow and rolled from his brow relentlessly. “You were right. Surely you are pleased to know it.”

“I’m not pleased Loki, but I hope you’ll learn from this, and listen. I know you aren’t used to your circumstances, but speaking as someone who’s not only been human her whole life, but spent a good deal of time studying human life in general, I really mean it when I tell you something is for your own good.”

Loki groaned in response and curled into himself.

He felt like a child again, like the very first time he had discovered sweets. He’d spent the night talking all of the less intelligent members of the court into giving him their portions, then proceeded to gorge himself sick on them.

It had been Frigga then who had rubbed his hair and chided him gently. But as Talia settled herself on the chair beside his bed and reached up hesitantly to deliver comfort with a cool hand against his face, he shuddered and leaned into it just the same. Let her grow maternal feelings for him; it could only make his life easier, and make her easier to sway.

His thoughts were derailed by the cramps. He hurt; the pressure was mounting from his body’s inability to break down what he’d consumed. He wanted to complain, as he had in his youth, but pride now stamped down on the words, forcing him to swallow them. At least it should be no more caustic than the things he had already swallowed that evening.

“You should know…” Talia started gently, and through his pain he turned his head towards her to show that he was listening. “Your body is going to have to expel what you ate one way or another. Now, Annie didn’t give you much, insofar as serving size, because we didn’t want to risk rupturing your stomach. Still, I know you’re really uncomfortable right now. We do have some options, if you want-- you can digest naturally-- it’ll be a slow process and basically involves trying to see if your body can break everything down, given the time, or we can give you some ipecac, which will help you vomit it up. I know vomiting isn’t fun, but it will help. Another option is we can give you a smoothie with digestive enzymes in it, to help you break the food down. Now I know you probably don’t feel like you want to swallow anything right now, but the easiest fixes I can offer you both involve that.”

He took a deep breath.

“The ‘smoothie’ will add pressure before it relieves it?” She nodded, and he sighed.

“I would rather have done with it. Bring me your ipecac… I will have rid of this orally.”

He spent the next few hours regretting that decision.

She had offered him a basin, but he had taken up a station in the bathroom, heaving until he felt he’d bring up internal organs, if he went any further.

Exhausted and wrung, he found himself again on his bed, no longer curled around the cramps, but sprawled out on his back and dozing.

Doctor Rivera had had to leave him to see to some of the others, and he was left in the blessed quiet and cool.

He knew he was drifting, but between one blink and the next, the face of the Soldier appeared, and he scrambled back frantically for a moment until it registered who it was.

“You didn’t come to the meeting. Doctor Rivera said you were ill.” His voice was gruff but there was an underlying question. Worry, Loki realized. Probably fear that he was being kept away.

“I ate too much.” Loki told him, then flushed as the soldier’s eyes slid down his frame and he looked sceptical.

He refused to defend himself further though, Instead easing himself back onto the bed, this time propped up a little more.

The soldier sat on the very edge of the mattress beside him.

“I assume no one knows you’re here?” The man shook his head no, eyes wary, but face unmoving.

“I thought they may be punishing you because I would talk to you, and not Rogers.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“Not at all.” Loki said smoothly, though his gaze slid upwards toward the speakers, wondering how long it would take them to come in and demand that the Soldier leave.  The Soldier followed his gaze and frowned, his lips thinning as he came to perhaps the wrong conclusion.

Loki didn’t correct him, wondering how he could turn this, too, to his advantage.

“Thank you for coming to check on me.” He put real gratitude into his voice. “It’s… good to know that I am not completely alone, here. I appreciate it.”

The Soldier’s eyes widened, and his face shifted, only in small twitches, but the expressions were there all the same.

“Sure.” The Soldier just said, seemingly confused by the sentiment. Loki thought quickly, seeking to build on the moment.

“I have been thinking…” Loki said. “About that talk we had? And how people call you by names that don’t represent you, and expect things of you based on who they see you as. I thought, if you were to pick a name for yourself, start carving out who you are now from who you have been… it may help you feel more certain of your standing, and help others have a way to relate to you, as something other than Bucky or The Soldier.”

The Soldier merely grunted, though at least he was acknowledging that he’d heard. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but that was when a sharp knock came at the door, and Talia and two orderlies followed.

“Hello James. I think Loki should be alone for the moment-- he’s still recovering.” Her voice had a brittle edge to it, as though she expected some trouble from one of them, but he simply stood.

He turned towards them, and the orderlies tensed, Bruno actually taking a step back before he caught himself, but in the time, the Soldier paused. He looked back over his shoulder.

“I hope you feel better, my friend.” He said, and the surprise written all over the Doctor’s face as she stepped aside for him would have been hilarious, had Loki been less uncomfortable.

“You did say I could receive visitors.” Loki reminded her helpfully, from his propped up position on the bed. He sounded uncharacteristically chipper, in an accidental overcompensation for his pain.

“You just focus on feeling better. Would you like some juice or something?” She seemed casual, kind, but he could see her mind at work. She wasn’t alone in that.

He waved her away silently, his mind already turned to the problem of The Soldier and The Captain.

He caught her just as she was about to close the door, though.

“Doctor Rivera? You haven’t told Captain Rogers about my… foolish insistence have you?”

He knew it would be an awkward place for her. On the one hand, she shouldn’t, but on the other if she didn’t and he brought it up the next time Rogers visited, he would have the opportunity to hold it against them.

“No, I haven’t.” She said slowly, obviously bright enough to wait for the other shoe to drop.

Loki nodded appreciatively. “I understand, if you feel that you should. But if you… would you tell him that I’d like to talk to him, next time he’s here… about James Barnes?”

And now she was stuck. She had to write to him, and couldn’t not include the request, because the Captain would be back, and Loki would have potent ammunition if she refused.

“I can’t say I approve, but I will pass on the message.” She told him tersely. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Please give my apologies to Nico. I’m afraid I simply don’t feel up to my therapy tonight.” He smiled sweetly at her, the request dripping with disdain.

Despite his mistakes, he felt like a prince in this moment, knowing that Captain Rogers wouldn’t be able to stay away with the promise of information about his friend hanging over his head.

“Your therapy is scheduled on days you aren’t meant to have group-- so if you’re feeling better, we can have him come see you tomorrow night, and try taking you to the therapy room.” Her mask of professionalism was back firmly in place, and Loki tipped his head in acquiescence.

He slept surprisingly well that night, his hands clasping the pillow beside his face.

When he woke, though, the Soldier sat in the chair opposite his bed, face turned away from him, staring inward rather than at his surroundings.

He sat up slowly, afraid to startle him, but he was very aware, and turned to face Loki the moment he showed signs of consciousness.

“You’re used to sleeping in chains.” A disarming non-sequitur. Loki swallowed, then nodded, sure that honesty with this man was the best idea, for now.

“Yes. It’s… a difficult habit to break.” He replied cautiously, aware that he would likely have to address this during his next meeting with Doctor Rivera and already dreading it and planning ways to deflect. “Have you thought at all about my proposal that you make a new name for yourself?” He thought that might be why the Soldier was here-- to pick up where they had left off.

“I haven’t thought of much else.” He said, the words slow and thoughtful. “But I can’t think of anything… nothing feels right.”

“Of course not.” Loki responded blithely. “Every name you know will have ties to a previous life, a different time. It’ll have shadows that cling to it.” He pursed his lips.

“Shadows.” The Soldier echoed, frowning.

“Yes, shadows. You know, you’re a bit of a shadow yourself.” He saw him tensing and pressed on, “I don’t mean to insult-- you slip in here unnoticed and unstoppable, you can be invisible in a room if you so choose. You’re a sort of an echo of many peoples’ ideas of you… what if we were to call you Shadow?”

The Soldier let out a sound between a snort and a cough.

“No one would ever take me seriously again.”

Loki gave him a wry little smile.

“Perhaps not in English then. In the tongue of the Norse who told tales of me, long ago, there was a word for hiding in the shadow of the night-- grima. What do you think?”

“Grima.” He turned it over in his mouth, tasting it and testing it.

“Of course, it could be anything. What do you think? Are you a… Travis?” Loki asked, thinking of the blonde man who had brought him soup during Rogers’ first visit. “A Bruno, perhaps? Nico? A Tony? Or a Clint?”

The Soldier sat shaking his head no.

“Grima.” He said finally. “I think I like it.”

“Well, Grima.” Loki said lowly. “I think the good Captain will be visiting us today. If you’d like, I would be happy to tell him your new name-- as well as the reasoning behind it.”

Wariness flashed across his face, warring with gratitude. There was a long pause, and then a jerky nod.

“If you see him first.” He said, and Loki’s lips slid into a smile that made him, too, feel like a shadow of his former self.

“Of course.” His silky court trained voice seemed to reassure th-- Grima. Loki wondered just how much he had been through, and what sort of treatment he had undergone, to be so hesitant to reach out to true friends, and so ready to accept the friendship of a potential danger. Perhaps it was as he had said before-- he didn’t think himself worthy of the Captain.

Loki felt certain he would prove himself more than worthy of his attentions. Those attentions, however had apparently been wandering; he hadn’t noticed the other man’s black eye until just now.

“Grima? What happened--” he made a gesture around his own eye, his stomach plummeting a bit. “That’s not because you came to see me last night, is it?”

“No.” He paused, looked on the verge of saying something, then took a breath. His mask dropped, and Loki could see the worry that settled onto his face. “I went looking for company, and surprised Cynthia. She was on her own and I don’t think she realized I was behind her. She reacted on instinct… or muscle memory.” He shook his head and spread his hands, wordless. “It has been a very long time since anyone has landed a hit on me, let alone one hard enough to leave a mark.”

Loki felt his brows climbing upwards, almost enough to disappear into his hairline.

“How… very interesting. Is her hand alright?” It wasn’t a dig on his friend’s hard head, but rather a worry about her lack of experience in physical combat. He’d seen young men who broke fingers from incorrectly landing a blow.

“She acted like she didn’t feel it.” He said. “And her form was perfect. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was the one who trained her.” There was some pride to that statement, but a bit of worry, too, and Loki thought he understood. But he would know more once Captain Rogers had come and gone.

If the Soldier wouldn’t speak of it, and Rivera wouldn’t either, he would appeal to the strongest, most human resource he had.

“Well.” He said thoughtfully. “I wonder what the story behind that is.” He tried to keep his tone mild and light, in the hopes that whoever reviewed their conversations may be bored and inattentive.

“If you’ll forgive me, however, I believe it is nearly time for my bath, and I don’t particularly want to greet The Captain smelling of my own stomach juices.”

The Soldier made the small choking, wuffing sound that Loki had come to understand showed his amusement.

“Oh and Grima?” He asked as the man stood to leave. He paused. “Do me the favor of waking me when you come to visit, won’t you?”

The Soldier paused, then nodded. “I’ll knock next time.” There was something altogether unnerving about a smile on a face where it did not reach to his eyes. Loki wondered if he’d perhaps made a mistake, if he’d misjudged the situation, and had only opened himself up to more danger by befriending this man.

He figured he would find out soon enough.

***

Rogers came when he was eating lunch-- a plate of soft fruits, a welcome change from mush. It seemed that the dietician felt bad for her hand in his suffering of the previous day, and was apologizing by giving him food that he had to chew, that was sweet, but, he hoped, was easier to digest. Just to be safe, he nibbled here and there, and ate slowly.

He’d had perhaps a quarter of the plate of melon scoops and grapes when the Captain appeared, and Loki was gratified to see that once again he had come out of costume.

“Captain.” He nodded his greeting, catching the dribble of juice that threatened to embarrass him.

  
  


Steve took a moment to appraise how Loki seemed to be doing, and Loki could see him imagining what his condition must have been like when his body rejected the overindulgence. He's certainly sympathetic, which is no less than he might expect of him.

 

"Hey, how are you feeling? Doctor Rivera mentioned you'd had a rough night, any better?" He asked, and for all his concern, he didn’t try to mask the reproach that found its way into his voice.

“I feel mainly foolish, I suppose, though I am suffering less for it now. Did she also mention my request for information?” Loki struggled not to show the fond exasperation he felt-- he’d expected more contempt and less fondness, really, and the unexpected surge of warmth at the Captain’s inability to be anything other than kind nearly ruined his efforts.

"It's all right, happens to the best of us," Rogers answered with a smile, though it faded a moment later. "She mentioned you wanted to ask me about Bucky. Did something... happen?"

“Only talking Captain, though a good deal of it.” He spoke softly, only just realizing the impression he must have given. Loki’s chest clenched, and he thought it was a complication from the previous evening’s folly, until he realized the pain was emotional, not physical. He couldn’t tell if he was jealous of Rogers’s concern for his friend, or if it called to mind the way Thor surely used to inquire after him.

Still, at least the worry had driven the Captain to return to him in good time.

“I think you will have realized by now, as those who work here have, that, for whatever reason, your Bucky is more comfortable speaking with me than he is with any of those who may be better suited to help him, yourself included.” He pursed his lips and braced himself for any reaction the good Captain may have, half expecting Thor’s offended temper.

Conflicting emotions flickered across the Good Captain’s face, and Loki watched impassively.

 

"Well... I supposed it's good that he's speaking to someone, at least," Rogers finally settled on, the words reluctant at best. Loki is sure that he has misgivings. It's too convenient that he, of all people, would be the one to reach Bucky.

“Don’t sound so disappointed, Rogers. It isn’t becoming on you.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his tone, but he knew he hadn’t succeeded. It hurt knowing even the man who spoke the most for him, who seemed to think the best of him, still defaulted to believing the worst.

“I asked to speak with you so that I could know of him, and not hurt him by being misinformed, not cause him pain through accident or omission.” He blew air harshly out through his nose.

“You know he isn’t exactly your Bucky-- not any more. He doesn’t remember that man, at least not fully. But he isn’t exactly the Soldier either. He needs someone who can see him as separate from either. Both, but neither at once. Do you see?” He didn’t know why he was seeking to reassure the Captain, why, even with his bruised feelings, he was leaning forward in his chair, willing the Captain to understand, to embrace the help he was trying to offer on the man’s behalf. But of course, why should he? The Other had shown him all of the ways his intended good deeds, as well as his ill ones, had failed, could fail, would fail… why should this time be any different? He was probably dooming one or all of them by so much as trying. But satisfaction with his lot was not in his nature, and so he would always work to improve it.

Steve ducked his gaze, conflicted. There’s guilt there, and a strong protective urge, and Loki can’t do anything but wait.

 

"If he's not Bucky, he's not the Soldier--" It clearly pains him to utter the words. "Then who is he?" Rogers finally asked.

“He’s calling himself Grima for now.” He put the stress on the i, making it long and speaking slowly so that the Captain would be able to understand it. “It means to hide in shadows; a mask. And it may be that at some point, he will no longer need such a mask, but for now, he is too exposed, too many others telling him who he is and should be, without his having the opportunity to learn for himself.” Loki paused, searching the Captain’s face for a reaction before continuing, softening his voice and injecting care and concern into it. “If you want to get to know the man he is now, you have to stop expecting the man you knew to suddenly wake up within him.”

“Grima,” He echoed slowly, rolling the word around his mouth and likely unsure as to whether or not he cares for the taste. “It’s an unusual name. He picked it out himself?” He sounds liek he already knows the answer.

Loki smiled, certain that the name was as alien to him as the likes of ‘Steve’ was to Loki’s own tongue.

“He needed a name that was not attached to his past. Either of them. I recommended a few from a tongue that he would be unfamiliar with. He knows the meaning, but it carries no more weight than that which he gives it. A clean slate, as it were.” He explained calmly and smoothly.

Let the Captain stew in the mixture of feelings this was sure to cause. On the one hand, kind of Loki to be so thoughtful. On the other, it was Loki, after all, who was close enough to make the suggestion. And it was Loki’s suggestion that had been taken. If Rogers was nervous, perhaps he was right to be.

 

“Why are you helping him like this?” he asks finally.

“And why should I not?” Loki drew his pride around him like a cloak, sitting straighter and lifting his chin.

“Really Captain, do you think me so incapable of empathy that I should push away someone who appears so nearly friendless? Do you think me so witless that I should seek to betray you, of all people, who has helped me the most? You want your friend back. I want to thank you for the kindness you have shown. And Grima wants a future of his own. It seems only the logical thing, only the kind thing-- was I wrong in thinking that was what you would want of me?” The final jab felt extremely satisfying.

The accusations force a sigh out of Rogers. Loki smothers the smirk that threatens to form, knowing he’s won. He can all but see the reasoning going on behind the Captain’s eyes. Maybe Loki really is trying to do something kind as a way to repay Steve… But it all feels too convenient, that Loki would be the one to reach Bucky, help rename him, make friends with him, even after all the efforts Steve and Rivera have made… It’s obvious the Captain doesn’t trust him, btu oh how he wants to.

“No, it’s… If it really helps him, then I guess… I guess it’s good that he has you to talk to,” he says, sounding as if he’s having a hard time convincing himself. “Does Rivera know what’s been happening?”

“It’s difficult for me to say. I know she was aware of our initial bonding-- she seemed to encourage it. But as for this latest development, I thought you should be the first to know, and the most of it happened last night when I was ill. So unless Grima himself has told her, then I suppose she is only finding out through her listening in to our conversation now.” He made it matter of fact, the same way he would have said that Hugin and Munin were listening in, or that Heimdall could see. “She and I are not due to meet again until tomorrow, but I wager she will have some things to say to me on the subject, never you fret.” He was sardonic, certain that this would be the least of the challenges he faced on Grima’s account..

“Well, so long as this is something that helps him, I don’t see why she’d object to you being friends with him and him choosing his own name,” He seems to be trying to talk himself out of his own misgivings.

“And what of yourself, Captain? You are troubled, that much is plain. I suppose there is no way for me to convince you that I mean you no harm, but to be honest, I had thought us beyond this. You have slept in my company-- or do you value both his intelligence and your safety so little that you will trust me around you unconscious, but not around him while he walks and speaks?” He paused just for a second, to allow that to sink in, then he made himself look sad, contrived to look as though this conversation truly hurt him, and lowered his voice to match the downward tilt of his eyes. “I don’t know what I can do to prove my sincerity to you, Captain Rogers. I only wish I did.”

He watches as Rogers feels another stab of guilt. Here he is, jealous and suspicious when Loki only seems to be doing what he can to help. He hasn’t given The Captain an outright reason to doubt his motives yet, and everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves. Or so he’d said.

“I’m sorry,” He shook his head. “You’re right. He’s showing progress, I should thank you for that, at the very least.”  

“And myself?” He asked, pressing in the point. “Have I not shown progress?” Reminding the Captain that the Soldier wasn’t the only one who he should be concerned about. He quickly  clapped a hand to his mouth, though, as if he hadn’t thought the words through, and shook his head. “I’m sorry; pay that no mind. But still-- will you tell me of him, as you recall? Tell me about Bucky, who he was to you. Who he was when he was Bucky.” He would learn more of him, and hopefully, help begin the Captain on the process of truly realizing that that man was gone. That that friendship was over. And that Loki would be the key to building anew.

“Of course you’ve been showing progress, too, and it’s great,” Steve hurried to assure him, but it felt like a hollow victory, and a minor one at that. “As for Bucky, um… We grew up together. I was always pretty sick, and when my parents died, Bucky was there for me. He was always there for me, even after I joined the army and took the serum. He went through hell, was tortured and experimented on… Even after I found him, I could always count on him to have my back, and I had his. Right up till he fell.”

He shut his eyes tightly, rubbing his forehead as the memories came flooding back to him. Loki watched with sharp eyes, gathering information from every gesture, every tick, every quickened breath.

“And then Hydra found him, experimented on him again, turned him into weapon who had no say in what happened to him.”

Loki found himself nodding along, sympathy etched on his face and frustration simmering under the surface.

“It’s a sad story, to be sure, but tell me about him. What did he enjoy? What did he dislike? What was he master of? What did you do for sport, for leisure, for employment-- the both of you. The more I know of the life he led before, the more I can answer questions he has-- and unlike you, I can do so without the weight of expectation.” He tried to turn his impatience into earnest sincerity.

“He may never recover who he once was, but that doesn’t mean he will not wish to know, to understand… and he does appreciate you, you know. It will help him be more comfortable with you if he can know why you care as much as you do.”

“We were dirt poor back then, and I couldn’t do much of anything aside from sometimes have dinner ready when Bucky got home, if I could manage that day, and the odd jobs here and there. I couldn’t do real manual labor, but I did what I could.” Steve replied, his gaze far-away.

“He worked real hard trying to pay the bills, spent all day at the docks or whatever day job he’d managed to land that month, then go play piano in the bars during the night, at the really classy places. I got to watch him now and then, he always seemed to enjoy himself, no matter how tired he was from the day’s work. His mom taught him, you know. She was really talented, pretty well-known when he was growing up, and he liked to make sure his skills stayed sharp, I think as a way to keep her memory with him.”

Steve smiled, shaking his head. “Somehow he’d always manage to get the bills paid and still have enough for the two of us to go out on the weekend, take a couple of girls dancing. Or well... He’d do the dancing. I couldn’t do much of that.”

“So he was right about having played before, then. I thought he must have, with as quickly as he caught on. Interesting. I can’t imagine those who weaponized him would have much need of him as a pianist, do you? Which would seem to imply that, if confronted with bits of his past in a non-pressurized situation, he may reclaim some of it, which I had hoped was the case.” Loki beamed, rewarding The Captain for his words.

“And yourself, what did you do for him? Surely if you were as much of an invalid as you make it seem, he would have had no reason to help you through it all… or is that where you developed your bone headed loyalty and compassion from?” He tried to imagine Grima as a caretaker, and, considering how he hovered watchfully over the younger ones, Loki had a surprisingly easy time picturing him as the sole provider for younger Captain Rogers.

The thought of Bucky being able to remember some part of their past together was encouraging for Steve, and his smile grew a bit wider at Loki’s words.

“I honestly don’t know why Bucky kept me around all those years,” he admitted. “I was a handful; when I wasn’t dealing with one ailment or another, I was off getting into trouble that he’d inevitably have to come bail me out of. I did what I could to help, clean the house, cook, take care of the laundry, but it never felt like enough to me. Maybe he saw me as the brother he never had, I don’t know.”

Just the thought seemed to take years off of the Captain’s face, the lines of his form growing taller and straighter and the expression he made positively sunny. For another brief instant, Loki was reminded of Thor-- perhaps it was the mention of Rogers and The Soldier’s pseudo brotherhood.

Loki crept closer, wanting to reinforce this positive feeling with a physical touch, wanting to make sure this moment was entirely about The Captain and himself, despite Grima being the subject of it. He lay one hand on the Captain’s arm, and spoke softly.

“Maybe some day he will be able to tell us.” The words were encouraging and the tone confidential and almost conspiring. The Captain was warm under his touch, and Loki had forgotten again what it was like to have that sort of causal intimacy. It had been far longer than he would like.

He removed his hand quickly, though, loathe as he was to do so, lest the Captain read any of his intentions into the contact.

“I’d really like that,” he answered, finding himself maybe just a little reluctant at losing the friendly touch so quickly. “Who knows, maybe with your help it’ll happen. Not a whole lot has worked so far, except you.”

Loki liked that sentiment. It made him feel needed. It took him a moment to catch up to that train of thought, and he quickly corrected himself. It made him feel more sure of his position. More secure.

Still, he found himself floundering, and his knee jerk reaction was to press his luck and push this one step further, really ground into The Captain’s skull how close they were, and how much Loki needed him. He wasn’t, by any means, returning the compliment.

“Were Thor and I still brothers--” the words caught in his throat and settled painfully in his chest, the truth of the thought hitting him harder than expected, “I am sure he would say the same of you.”

***

He closed the door to Loki’s room behind him softly, still too immersed in memories and too thrown by Loki’s words to be really able to pay attention to the world around him.

He should go talk to Doctor Rivera. He knew that. But he didn’t want to. And he was tired, suddenly. Tired of doing what he should-- He wanted to see Bucky. Grima. Whoever he was, even if what Loki said was true, and the man behind the familiar face was wholly different. He didn’t care. He wanted to see him.

He rubbed at his eyes, annoyed by the raw and itchy feeling, the dryness that he felt entirely too keenly right before tears threatened to fall.

He wouldn’t cry. That would be dumb. There was no reason for it. He hadn’t lost anything, hadn’t had anything taken from him that at least some part of him didn’t already know was gone.

He shouldn’t have worried though. He thought he would have to make the decision to shirk his duty and seek out Bu- Grima. Instead, he walked right into him.

The strong metallic arm caught him as they hit, his reflexes clearly slowed as he let his emotion get the better of him.

All that Steve could manage was an intelligent sounding, “Oof.”

Bucky helped him regain his balance, then took a step back, keeping him at arm’s length.

Steve wondered wildly whether Buck-- whether Grima had been standing outside Loki’s door, waiting for him. Or waiting for Loki. Or maybe he was just passing by.

He probably would never know.

“Captain.” The other man greeted, his entire body leaning like he was wary of this encounter. Not waiting for him, then, Steve thought, and suddenly realized how tired he was of being called ‘Captain’.

“Loki says we’re going to call you Grima now, is that right?” He approached the subject head on, but not aggressively. It was conversational.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He returned, and it wasn’t a platitude-- he really wanted to know. Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“It’ll take a little getting used to, but I can’t see it hurting anything. I do have a request though.” Steve watched as his shoulders rose and tensed at the words, and he wondered what it was that Buc--that Grima was afraid he’d ask of him. Probably afraid he’d request that he not talk to Loki any more. Before Grima could put that flinch into words, though, Steve pressed on. “I’ll use your name if you’ll use mine. You don’t have to call me Captain. Call me Steve. I know… I know we have a rough sort of history between us, but I do… Loki said I should try and get to know who you are now, instead of just thinking of you as a modified version of Bucky. I want to do that, get to know you. Maybe be friends. If you want.” He felt like he was talking too fast, thought that he sounded like Tony when he was cornered and knew there was a good chance he was going to get a lecture out of it.

“The Bucky you knew must’ve been like you.” Grima said slowly. “I’m not. You can get to know me if you want. But you may not like what you see.”

“That’s alright.” Steve agreed quickly, eager to pacify the other guy. “I don’t have to like it, I just have to wrap my head around it. Us spending all this time calling you… names that weren’t you. I’m sorry.” He told him seriously. “I didn’t want to cause extra distress. I just hoped it would help, somehow.”

Grima stood stock still, considering him for a moment, then nodded.

“I was going to get something to drink. Would you drink with me?”

Steve’s heart leapt.

“Be glad to. After you.” He gestured in the direction that Grima had been heading, and followed, looking for any familiarity in his gait, in the swing of his arms or the way he held his head. It wasn’t there, though, and Steve chastised himself for that. Of course it wasn’t. If Loki was to be believed, this was someone new, different-- and he himself knew that he’d been through things.

He followed him through the hall and into an empty rec room, or maybe a snack room. Hard to say; it was almost like a cafeteria, but there was no kitchen. Only shelves of bagged chips and jerky, and coolers with drinks. He was glad it existed, though, because he hated the way Loki was reliant on the house for food, and he recalled how he’d spent the first few weeks of life in the 21st century stockpiling bits of food for later, all too used to running low. He wondered if the other man had that problem, but couldn’t think of a way to ask without relating it back to his former life as Bucky. So he held his tongue.

Grima fetched two cartons of milk from an unlocked refrigerator case and handed one to him.

He took it gladly and settled onto the bench across the table from Grima.

“So I heard you took up the piano, and Loki’s teaching you.” He offered, as a means of breaking the ice.

Grima just nodded.

“Yes.” And lapsed into silence. Steve thought if he held the quiet, whatever was bothering him, the reason he had asked him there, might become apparent.

“You were gone for a very long time, recently. I thought you finally gave up hope.” He spoke suddenly, and Steve flinched.

“No, of course not!” Steve said, slightly aghast while still semi-ecstatic. This was the longest they had spoken since he’d found out Bucky was still alive.

“No, I-- I was sent out on a mission. I had to recover a scepter that Loki originally brought with him-- we lost sight of it a few times and when it surfaced again, they sent me to make sure that Hydra couldn’t use it to cause any harm.”

Grima nodded, pursing his lips.

“Will you do something for me?” He asked, and Steve felt wary-- not as wary as he would have if Loki had asked the same, but wary just the same.

“What is it?” He hedged, afraid to make promises.

“I want you to find out the story of someone in here, for me.” Grima said, and Steve furrowed his brow. And listened.

After all of this, he was going to need to spend some time with a voice of reason. He made a note to himself to give Sam a call.

***

The emotional and mental weights of the day were lifted from him by the sheer physicality and exertion of his therapy. As promised, Nico and Travis came to get him long after the other patients were in bed, and bed check had come back with a hundred percent of their residents accounted for. Only then was he taken silently through the halls and down an elevator into the basement rooms that served as the gym and training areas.

Loki could imagine, during the day, the others using this space to work out their anxieties, their anger and their despair. But here, he was attached via a harness to Nico’s chest, held up by the other man’s strong thighs while he attempted to claim some of his own weight and propel himself forward at the same time. He gripped the low slung parallel bars and shuffled a little, annoyed at his own elation at the progress.

After all, what was ten feet when it left him drained at the end of it? What good were a few steps, when he held at most twenty pounds of his weight?

He was afraid that perhaps the doctors were right, that he was healing like a human now, and as such, likely not healing at all.

And the only way to combat the lowness that such humbling thoughts threatened to send him toppling to was to get angry at it. It had always worked before.

He made the trip back and forth four more times before he collapsed, exhausted, into his chair, and was rolled unresisting back to his room.

“You’re doing magnificently!” Nico told him for the eight or ninth time, and he wished he could say he felt like that was true.

It was a start. He would get there.

In the meantime, he had several pots cooking, and several more pies that needed him to stick his fingers in.

  
Loki collapsed into his bed that night and fell asleep almost before his eyes shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About damn time, I know! Sorry for the overly long wait. Gonna try to keep this cranking until the actual "hiatus", but I talked about the posting schedule a bit in the last chapter's notes, for anyone interested.
> 
> If you're still following the story after all this time, you have my most sincere thanks--and I hope this chapter and those that follow don't let you down!


	10. Ten

His sleep ended on a sudden note when Grima shook his arm. 

“Sorry.” He immediately apologized, backing away, and Loki realized he’d pushed himself upright in a panicked hurry. 

“I disabled the cameras and mics.” Grima told him, shrugging as he sat down. Loki stared, alertness not quite caught up to his consciousness or speeding pulse. 

“Why? Was there something-- are you alright?” Loki gave the man a once over as best he could in the half light of the still darkened room. 

“I don’t sleep often. Because I dream.” Grima had returned to his short sentences, his clipped voice, and his gruff delivery. 

“What do you dream about, if you don’t mind saying?” Loki asked, falling into the line of the conversation. He wouldn’t bring it up if he didn’t want to say something, unless he was trying to escape it.

“Things I’ve done. Sometimes people I knew, or people I must have known. Familiar faces I forgot. Hurting them.” His eyes slid away and he brought his flesh hand up to his mouth, fingertips pressed against his lips, until he turned and pressed his palm over his mouth. 

Loki didn’t know what to say to that, what to do. 

“When I was… held. By my enemies. They forced me to watch a thousand variations of my story as it played out, how my lives happened in every world and each echo. Everytime I watched, I saw myself do the same as you do in our dreams. Harm those I loved. Even when I tried to help, even when I wanted to do right by them.” He patted the mattress beside him, inviting Bucky closer. It was clear to him that, as private and intimate as Grima had made this meeting, he ought to be making him feel comfortable about being close to him. Not only to build up his tolerance of Loki, or his reliance on him, but because if he could cause a kind of casual proximity to become the norm, he could only imagine how the Captain might react.

“How does this one end, then?” Grima asked, creeping forward slowly. He was uncertain, and Loki felt again, like he had with Rogers at first, as though he was coaxing a shying animal. 

“I don’t know.” Loki told him honestly. “Probably poorly, no matter my intent. But I have to do what I can, don’t I?” He didn’t think of himself as an optimist. He had too much loathing for existence at large and his to be specific to have the necessary patience and blind faith for optimism. But it was a choice between willful pigheadedness or despair, and he didn’t have the time or luxury for the latter any longer. Besides, the former had served Thor so well throughout their lives...

Grima seemed unsure, but he settled himself on the edge of the bed, and Loki reached out through the darkness, his fingertips finding his friend’s cold metal arm. He didn’t try to say anything, having found that silence on his part was usually what urged the other man into speech, in a way even his most carefully chosen words could not. 

“What did you do? To come here.” Grima finally asked. 

Loki looked at him, surprised and hoping for clarification.  
“Even the children know perfectly well.” Perhaps he wanted to be told in Loki’s own words?

“I was kept… I didn’t have access to news and information. The children were not forced to sleep for years between their killings.” It was the first tme Loki had heard him sound truly biter about what had been done to him-- the first time he’d heard him speak of it willingly and without prompting. 

“I invaded your world, with the intent to fight it and rule it, and in the process I killed many and hurt still more. I… am a traitor to my home, twice over, and as punishment I have been stripped of all power and my life and… I’ve lost everything, really. On top of the torture.” Summarized that way, it was all so hopeless sounding. Loki shook his head. 

“Power?” Grima prompted, probably sensing the shift in Loki’s mood. 

“Seidhr.” He clarified, aware that would mean little to any not practicing it. “It’s an ability, a manipulation of energy. It doesn’t matter. It’s gone now.”

“Is that what your sceptre was for?” Grima asked, words falling over themselves to come out, like he was eager to know something, to have something to contribute.  
“The sceptre?” Loki asked slowly, puzzled how he should know about that if not the circumstances surrounding it. “No, the sceptre was something entirely different. It was a link, a means of communication, with the creatures who funded and coordinated my invasion. It was linked to my mind, and linked me to them, and… when I needed it, linked my mind to those I enslaved with it. Like Rogers’s friend Barton, and others. It let me into their minds, let me learn from them…” He trailed off, suddenly seeing how it could be relevant to Grima.  
“Actually…” There wasn’t a good way to phrase it, and it was of course pointless. He stopped himself.

“Could you use it to learn about me? To see… if there is any of him left, in there?” Grima pressed. 

“I-- It makes no difference. I haven’t got it. And if I did, once I’d used it, neither you nor I would ever escape suspicion. I could do nothing more than help you remember, and we would always be linked, somewhat. Just as Barton and I remain… well.” He hadn’t tried to contact Barton with it, at all, ever. Not him, or any of the others-- suddenly he remembered the various scientists that he hadn’t been able to buy off. 

He made a mental note to ask Doctor Rivera to tell Rogers to contact them. If they had all heard what Barton did, experienced what he’d seen and felt… 

“Those I touched with the sceptre’s powers experienced my torture beside me. And I suppose, were one of them hurt, I might know. With me inside your head, no one would ever trust you again, Grima. I’m sorry.” 

They sat in silence while Loki tried not to ruminate on the horrors he was still potentially inflicting on those he had wronged here.

“I.. if you want, I could tell you a story that Rogers told me... about Bucky,” Loki offered, well aware it was nowhere near the same as what Grima had hoped he would do for him, but hoping that it would help, at least a little. 

“That… would be nice.” Grima said slowly, and Loki smiled into the darkness before he began.  
He was known as the liesmith, but lies weren’t the only words he was good with. He’d oft bartered services for his stories, particularly on journeys and in the depths of winter on Asgard. He took a deep breath, and began. 

“When Bucky was young, his mother died. She left him with little, save her memory, her kindness, and her hands. Beautiful lean, graceful hands. Pianist’s hands. Bucky learned to play at her knee, and after she died, he practiced to keep himself close to her…” His voice droned onwards, taking the rough outline that Rogers had given him and crafting it into something enchanting. He painted pictures in the empty air between them of a world gone by, and people neither of them had ever known. The hours slunk away like an animal ashamed, taking the darkness along like a tail tucked between its legs.

As the little light that filtered in through the window on his door gave Loki more sight, he could see the tracks of tears on Grima’s face.  
His words ground to a halt, and he didn’t know quite what to say. 

“Grima?” He told himself that reaching out, that pulling the man into an embrace, was about gaining control over him, but the way the muffled sound of partially subdued tears made his chest twinge proved that he was a terrible liar, at times. Particularly to himself. 

He held him and rocked, refusing to use words, in case they became twisted, in case they grew barbs and hurt this… friend. Loki was surprised to find that he was beginning to truly think of Grima as such. 

He was certain they must be a ridiculous sight, his slight frame wrapped around the much bulkier one, metal and tears gleaming and neither speaking. But eventually the shakes of his sorrow died down, and Loki was left just rubbing circles onto his back, ignoring as his fingertips encountered the seam between flesh and metal over and over again through the shirt.

“I remember meeting Steve.” Grima said at length, his voice soft even in breaking the silence.  
“After she died, He-- Bucky-- I didn’t have anyone. Scary, being alone. I was going to… to join a gang, I think. Or I was considering it. And then some of them were beating up this… this tiny guy. Thin, weak, but fighting.” Grima sat up to look directly at him, and Loki felt his mouth go dry. 

“I didn’t join them. I broke it up. And that little guy-- older than me, but tiny, streaming blood down his face, he grinned at me and said, ‘What’d you go and do that for? I was winning.’ And that was Steve.”

Loki couldn’t speak. It wasn’t the story, it was that look. Was he just a stand in? Closer to the Rogers that Bucky had spent most of his life knowing than the Captain that he had become? Loki let his hand rest on Grima’s arm, staring off into nothing behind him. His thoughts whirled until they became a faint buzz behind his eyes. They dozed that way, in companionable closeness.

When Francis of the morning shift came to wake him, Grima shouldered his way out wordlessly, but Loki didn’t detect any animosity from him. He was silent and thoughtful, but not angry, he didn’t think.And not hurt. Loki let his breath out, relieved.

“Francis?” He asked the attendant, before he could fully react to Grima’s presence and departure. “Will you tell Doctor Rivera that I need to speak with her? It may be a bit of an emergency, but not on my behalf.” 

In her office half an hour later, Loki found himself calmer than he expected, or at least better able to play the part. 

“You said there was some sort of emergency. Is Barnes alright?” She asked, cutting straight to the quick of the matter. He wondered if she had somewhere else to be, or someone else to see. Likely. 

“As well as can be expected. No, this pertains to matters outside of the house. I realized, in speaking with him last night, that if one of them was able to experience some facets of my torture, there is a good likelihood that the others whose minds I shared did as well. Doctors Selvig, Patel, Li, Zhao, Bautista… everyone who could not be hired. Someone should track them down, explain to them what it was that they-- that they heard, or felt, or saw.” He shifted his gaze, focusing instead on a cup of pens on the desk behind her. 

“I’m a little surprised at your concern and consideration for them. Have you changed your mind about the relative importance of humans?” 

Loki scoffed, drawing up and into himself.  
“Hardly. Your lifespans are the same inconsequential ripples they have ever been. However, I have been reconsidering my own inconsequential state, now. And while I am not elevating your kind, if I am truly lowered to being one of you… some mind must be given to those who are now my peers. I would hardly want them to try and seek me out, looking for answers that cannot be given.” He spread his hands, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. 

“Of course.” She nodded, tapping at her tablet. “I can contact Steve Rogers for you, if that’s what you want? Alert him to the situation?” 

“Actually,” and here was where the unsurety came in, “I think it would be best to contact Agent Barton. He has… first hand experience, and it was he who first spoke of the problem. There is no doubt in my mind he would be the best man to do this job, though it is of course his prerogative to turn it down.” He found his fingers lacing together so that he could twist them, and he put them down into his lap to keep from doing so. 

“I’ll see what I can do-- I think we have some contact info for him on file.” Rivera peered at him and pursed her lips before continuing.  
“May I ask you a question, though, Loki?” 

Loki waved his hand, imperiously and silently demanding that she get on with it.  
“You don’t have to answer me now, or ever, if you don’t want. But I want you to think about why you always feel the need to justify caring or doing something good with selfish motives. I don’t think they’re actually motives, are they? More like afterthoughts. Think about why you need them, why you can’t just accept that you are doing something kind for the sake of it.” 

“Because,” Loki said slowly, speaking as if to a particularly ignorant child, “I am a bad person.” 

Rivera simply shook her head and tapped the tablet. 

“Alright then, if you won’t consider that one, will you tell me about last night?” She changed topics quickly enough that it felt nearly seamless.

“He had a nightmare and wanted some company.” He said simply. Truth, and really all that she needed to know. 

“Francis said you were in bed together, and when we checked our recordings, they’d been turned off.” She told him, tone bland and carefully non judgemental, but he heard it just the same. 

“A charming implication, Doctor Rivera, but how do you comfort a friend? I cannot stand, and unless you’d have preferred Francis walk in to find him on my lap in the chair…” Loki trailed off, inwardly wincing at the idea of that much weight on his too thin legs. “Besides. I was asleep until he woke me.” He shrugged. 

"Were you able to comfort him, then?" she asked, the same mildness to her tone. "Nightmares can really shake up a person, do you think you were able to help?”

“He needed to talk; I let him. I told him a story. And when he left he seemed relaxed, a little more at peace. I’ve not got your qualifications, Doctor, but I am not completely inept. I was a brother, after all.” He said it all simply, not overly eager to divulge more. He was certain anything he said would be seen only through eyes of suspicion at this point, as should probably be the case.

"Was there a particular story you told him?" she pressed, sounding more interested now. "One you created yourself or heard elsewhere?"

“Oh, one the Captain told me. He had wondered, you see, how he knew about playing piano. I knew he wouldn’t ask Rogers, so I did. He wanted answers and I gave them to him.” He felt defensive about it, didn’t want to tell her the story itself, because it didn’t feel like his story to tell. Not to anyone not involved.

"I see," she hummed, fingers tapping absently against her forearm. "You say you consider him a friend... Close relationships are rare for you, has it felt all right so far?"

“I didn’t come for you to attempt to pick apart my interactions with Grima. I came to ask that you help me help others whom I have wronged. I answered your questions in regard to another of your patients’ well being. But if I were interested in discussing with you my time with him, I would say as much. I have not. I am not.” Loki was firm about it, neither raising his voice nor changing his tone.

"And I will, of course, but you can't fault me for attempting to do my job," Talia answered with a quirk of her brow. "Interpatient relationships are always monitored for reasons that I'm sure I don't need to explain to you."

“And I suppose it is only professional interrogation that leads to your questioning my sexuality and whether or not I am taking advantage of our closeness? Doubtless your reports tell you that I am equipped as humans are, but who knows-- Thor is a well recorded ladies’ man, even here, and my being his opposite always… tell me, what do customs of your world say of men who lie with others of their sex?” He could feel himself sliding into snideness. 

"It depends on which part of the world, I suppose," she answered lightly. "We've made good strides in this one, and I'm not in the habit of casting judgment on my patients for who they're attracted to." Her gaze turned sharp then. "However... If a friendship between residents has the potential for any adverse effects on their treatment, I have an ethical obligation to intervene."

“And you think my growing closer still to Grima would have adverse effects?” He prompted, a small challenging grin splitting his lips. “Do tell, please-- I am curious how our becoming physically intimate would hurt him.”

"You're the first person he's had any sort of close connection with since he was captured and weaponized by Hydra," she began. "His memories still carry large gaps, and there's a good chance that he has no way of remembering what is or isn't a healthy relationship with another person. It's great that he's learning to make friends, but intimacy with another person at this point in his rehabilitation might be a formative experience that could have adverse effects on his emotional well-being. It's why we monitor these situations so closely."

“Of course. How typical, that he should come first. But is it professional decorum or a misguided sense of kindness that led to your failure to mention that were it anyone else here but me, you would feel differently?” He paused for only a second; hardly long enough for her to gather her thoughts, let alone speak.  
“Well rest easy, Doctor. I’ve no intent of seducing your favorite patient. Yet.”

“Now that is simply not true,” she replied, breathing a tired sigh as she gripped the bridge of her nose. “If you think this is the first time something like this has happened, you’d be wrong. Meanwhile, you asked me of adverse effects for him, not you. It’s true that while you seem more comfortable in your mind than he is at the moment, I wouldn’t recommend doing something that could jeopardize one of the rare friendships you’ve made here on earth. He’s as much a part of your support system as you are of his, Loki.” 

“Yes, I am certain you run across this exact problem all the time. Tell me, Doctor, does it scare you, his and my closeness? Do you worry that more than our support systems will be destroyed, the longer we spend together?” He hissed it with all the tone and intent of a threat.  
“I may be stuck here, powerless, human, healing, and bound to your rules by my debt to The Captain, but I am still Loki, and I have ever done as best suits me. Little you say or think or do can change that, and though we may be in your domain, there is very little you can do to stop us. Captain Rogers has no objection to our friendship, so no morals restrain me on that font. You can keep me confined, but as he’s shown, Grima can walk through locked doors and speak without you hearing, like that shadow that is his namesake. The more you act against me, the closer the two of them will draw to my defense, and the more you try and keep me apart, the less time I will spend alone.” He tossed her a smug smirk and sat back in his chair, with the air of someone who had just declared a check mate after a game of what seemed to be nothing but losses. “If I want to sleep with Grima, I will. Try and stop me.”

The look she levels at him is equal parts exasperated and incredulous. "I can't imagine Captain Rogers wouldn't have his own reservations about what you've just said," she remarks. "Look, if you actually care about either of them and not just doing whatever best suits you, at the very least please keep what I've said in mind. Contrary to what you might think, I do want what's best for all of my patients."

“I have no doubt there would be reservations. Shame you have no proof of it-- this room being one of the few in the house without recording capabilities. And in a trial of your word against mine, you have raised concerns in the past to all involved about my budding friendship with James Barnes. And I-- well. What harm can an invalid do?” He gave her his best, most innocent face. “Who I care for and how is private, to me, and though you and your people are careful to invade every facet of life here, you will keep to yourself on these matters. I intend no harm, but lying is my job, and I go out of my way not to make liars of those around me. Naysay me, and you will see every fear you may have become flesh-- and then some.”

She released a slow breath, the only other reaction to his threats aside from the wariness in her eyes. "I'll be sure to contact Clint Barton and let him know your suggestion to find others who were affected. I'm sure he'll be interested in finding some way to help," she said, straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders as she wrapped up the conversation. 

“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your cooperation.” He turned his voice civil and mild, carefully mimicking her posture. “I will see you in group tomorrow, then.”

 

The next day, there was a large group gathering of all of the people Loki had met so far in the house, ostensibly because it was Cynthia’s birthday. Loki wasn’t entirely sure why he had been brought out for it-- He had no gifts to give, couldn’t drink to her health or partake in the feast to celebrate her future. He couldn’t even stand to look at the food, the pastry piled high and the cream whipped into cloud formations. The smell of cooked meat had made his stomach lurch, coming in the room, and eating his mush while the others bit into hamburgers felt like admitting defeat. He saw their stares, and stared back, challenging them to ask about his diet, his weight, his weakness. 

He was unsure of himself around them, being so markedly different, in his chair, in his pallor and his thinness, and when they began to sing, voices droning in a simple song they all seemed to know, he stayed silent. He felt obvious, markedly alien, and he supposed the scars on his back hadn’t been needed after all. Wouldn’t Odin feel foolish if he could see him now?

He could feel the bitter tears threaten and he found himself glaring at Doctor Rivera, silently blaming her for his discomfort. 

But Grima stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, and with a gentle squeeze and a tilt of his head, he drew Loki’s gaze towards where Cynthia was cutting into her cake. It took Loki a moment to understand what he was meant to be looking at. She was laughing, freckles on her face disappearing in the stretch lines as her mouth tilted upwards. But that wasn’t it; Grima had no interest in the more juvenile of her traits. Then he saw the way her hands moved while her mind was distracted by her friends.

Her grip on the knife was not that of someone who was used to chopping vegetables. She kept having to readjust as her hand curled around it at the balance point, as though she was far more accustomed to throwing blades than serving with them. Loki couldn’t help but frowning. First, because she only seemed to realize what she was doing wrong when her attention shifted back to her task, and second because she simply readjusted her hand without thinking and carried on with it, until she was distracted again, and her grip shifted back. He wasn’t versed in memory or that of muscles, but something seemed off about it. 

Loki only realized their mistake when he saw Doctor Rivera approaching. She had her placid smile in place, but her eyes were hardened with suspicion. 

“I suppose cake is out of the question, isn’t it?” Loki asked, heading her off before she had quite reached them. Grima turned to look, surprised, then huffed. 

“You’re going to get sick again. We just started learning Passacaglia.” Loki looked at Grima with surprise, unused to hearing him speak so many words while around others. He wondered if maybe he was more right than he’d thought about renaming him. Or if he was perhaps just benefitting from having a friend-- or only comfortable speaking as a cover for these circumstances. Loki knew too little to be able to form a solid idea of what was going on in the minds of those around him, but he knew better than to show it. 

“I would definitely advise against it.” Doctor Rivera said, her eyes shifting back and forth between them. “Though the good news is we’ve had some meetings, and you’re going to start having easy to digest but much more real foods. You should feel better about the actual process of eating, now that it involves actual chewing. And there is a bowl of grapes over there with your name on it.”

Loki tried not to feel pacified by this offering, but it was nice just the same. And if it got her attention off of them watching the children, so much the better.

“Thank you. I will have some soon, once everyone has been given their slices.” He was dismissing her, and the crook of his brow dared her to do anything about it. 

She didn’t, seemingly satisfied, or at least less concerned. Loki turned his eyes back on the birthday girl, and saw that Dr. Rivera wasn’t the only one who had noticed his watchfulness. Chris was hovering around her, glaring his way, and when Loki didn’t immediately see Sharon, he began looking around, half expecting that she might pounce on him in retaliation for his interest in their friend. 

But when he found her, she was sitting on a couch having her hair finger combed by Marsha, her eyes closed and her body swaying slightly in a state of bliss, while Marsha and Maynard and Spot had a conversation around her. 

The easiness of all of these people made him feel again like the outsider, though it helped to know that Grima was with him there, the two of them the only people who were not happy to simply mingle and enjoy themselves. But he also knew they’d drawn too much attention. Perhaps mingling would help. It would certainly please Doctor Rivera, which wasn’t a bad thing, so far as Loki was concerned.

He reached out and touched Grima gently to get his attention.  
“When they give out cake, bring me a small slice, won’t you?” He gave the request with an accompanying grimace, which seemed to communicate plenty to the other man. He was already imagining the pain that would follow, but it was worth it to hide their interest in the girl. 

Grima raised an eyebrow, but nodded just the same, and Loki wheeled himself away from him without another word, seeking out Tilda and Melina, where they sat speaking with Curtis.

“Does every birthday here receive such pomp?” he asked, thinking back to the feasts of the past that had been held in his honor, and breaking the silence that descended when he joined their group. Tilda and Melina exchanged a glance. 

“I think the majority of us opted out of it.” Curtis explained. “For the kids, it’s something important, but for us, you know, once you reach a certain age…” He shrugged and let his statement hang, and Loki, feeling a bit restless, decided to push. 

“Tell me, do you tend to think more about the years you’ve already spent, or those yet ahead of you, on such occasions? Is it a reminder of how old you are, or how little time remains?” 

Melina scowled at him and muttered something in her native tongue. 

“A little of both, I’d guess.” Tilda said frankly, turning her head to glare a warning at the Russian woman. “You’ll get the hang of it. Don’t worry. When is your birthday, anyway?” 

Loki smiled thinly.  
“I was raised on a planet that does not share your calendar, and born and abandoned on another besides that-- I don’t know when my true birth date is, only that in Asgard we celebrated before the Equinox in Einmánuður.” He shrugged. “It matters little, though.”

Tilda was staring at him, her head tilted and her expression calculating.  
“Do you have any idea how old you are, here?” She asked. 

“I’m to be 1050 this year, in theory.” He said softly. He could feel the helpless sorrow at his short years creeping in again, and turned to look at Cynthia with her friends, at the way her hair now hosted a clump of the icing that seemed to have migrated there from her face. Chris stood beside her, looking proud, his fingers in his mouth, completely oblivious to the way Sharon was creeping up behind him. 

It was a youthful scene, something he would not expect from those in Asgard with an equivalent of these childrens’ ages, but then, even Rivera wasn’t stopping them. 

“It’s good they get to have some kind of a childhood.” Spot spoke suddenly from beside him, and despite the way his face displayed no emotion, Loki could hear the wistfulness in his voice. “They’ve seen and done so much already… Most of the rest of us didn’t even get to start on this path until we were adults, most of us got to choose… Melina excepted, of course. They deserve some happiness when they can get it.” 

“Do you suppose you don’t?” Loki asked, and Spot just shook his head no, his face impassive as ever. Loki couldn’t read that, but he didn’t seem to need to.

Loki wondered if he could argue that he deserved the same, despite his life already having outstripped the combined years of everyone in this building. 

He remembered all of the things he had been told he deserved, voices listing off punishments, ways he ought to have died. His birthright was death, just as Odin had said. He deserved very little… but he demanded much to compensate. 

He’d taken advantage of the momentary distraction that the kids had caused, but Tilda quickly brought the attention back to Loki.

“If you’re that old already, how old do your people normally get?”

“Difficult to say. I don’t know much of my true species, only the aging process of my adoptive one.” He shrugged, entirely sidestepping the question, unwilling to think of the stories that claimed that Laufey had existed at the dawn of the first breath of the world’s tree. If so, how many more years than anticipated had he lost to Odin’s ire?

Martha let out a low whistle from where she sat near the group, apparently having listened in.  
“I didn’t know-- I figured you guys just had traditional names. So you really are the Loki people worshipped, back in the day?” 

Loki fixed a sneer to his face, using his pretended indignance to pull himself away from the edge of upset.  
“What do you mean, ‘back in the day’? I’m worshipped now.” He shifted his eyes quickly towards Grima, letting them take his meaning. He was establishing himself as powerful, despite his weak frame-- his power in the form of his hold on the other man, one who could do the lifting for him. Even though he did not feel so secure in their bond just yet to ask Grima for anything, he knew that, for now, he was still the shiny new toy, and Grima would step in to save his friend if he thought things were going poorly. 

Loki had half a mind to test that theory by seeing to it that they did, but he had just begun to make headway on his physical therapy, and he didn’t want to lose the privilege. 

“Listen, Godling.” Melina spoke, her accented voice rolling and dripping with scorn. “Whatever you may think of Barnes, he was made by the people who made me-- and you should beware. He finds use in you now, but do not make an enemy of him. We learn very quickly not to form bonds, or to be willing to sever them if necessary.” She spoke quickly, her voice low and her eyes aimed at Grima’s broad back, where he was accepting plates with cake piled on them. She broke off her speech and simply turned her head away when Grima began to approach them. The rest of the group was migrating this way as well, theoretically to be at least near the table while eating. 

“Just icing,” He said, handing him a plate. “For dipping your fruit in.”

“Thank you Grima.” Loki told him, eyeing the rest of the group to see how they reacted to the name. Martha was the only one whose surprise was apparent, the rest of them seemingly better schooled in hiding their feelings. 

The children joined them, each of their hands bearing a plate with cake, and an attendant with the rest.  
The food was passed out, and conversation lulled in favor of the dessert. 

Afterward, Loki claimed that the food had exhausted him, and asked to be allowed back to his room. 

Once there, he pulled himself onto the bed and lay back, eyes closed, faking sleep while his mind whirled with thoughts. He heard his door open but tried not to respond, holding his peace and waiting for whomever had been sent to check on him to go away. 

Instead he heard shuffling steps and then the door closing behind the person. He sat up, instantly alert, lest anyone manage to sneak up on him now while he was weak, unarmed, and the rest of those present were otherwise occupied. 

The Captain stood just inside the door, his hands raised and a look of regret already settling onto his face. His hands were not empty, though-- there was a small shining red box clenched in his right one. 

“Captain.” Loki greeted, dropping his guard immediately.

“Hey Loki. Doctor Rivera said you had needed to get in touch with Barton for a semi-emergency… I thought maybe now would be a good time for you to have this.” He could see the curiosity in the Captain’s face when met with Loki’s relaxed demeanor, but he didn’t seem like he intended to address it, which was fine. Loki wanted him to think that that was his natural reaction to Rogers’ presence; it implied trust. 

“And what, exactly, is this?” He asked languidly, pulling a pillow under him to prop himself up with. 

“It’s a phone, a Stark phone. It’s just to call me-- no one else has the number, and there’s no other contacts or dialing mechanisms to it. But with it you can send me texts-- short letters-- anytime. And you can all, and if I can speak right then, I’ll answer. If not, I will call you back as soon as I can.”

“And with this, I will be able to speak frankly to you textually, without being overheard or overseen by my handlers.” Loki stated blandly, amusement dancing on his lips. “Captain, how very touching. Thank you.” He held his hand out for it, every bit as docile as a house cat. 

“I have a request, though.” Rogers cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

“What would you like me to tell Grima for you, Captain?” Loki’s voice took on an edge, put there intentionally, and he withdrew his hand with a grimace. He registered the very real twinge in his chest, but elected to ignore it. He could weaponize anything, including his own hurt, so long as he mastered it. He glared at the man across from him.

“You don’t have to tell him anything!” Rogers hastened to assure him, apparently unsure of the reason for the change in Loki’s mood.

Loki remained silent, appearing wary now, though inwardly he was enjoying this. 

“I was just hoping you would give him this for me.” The Captain said, pulling a second Stark phone from his pocket. 

“Of course, Captain.” Loki spoke snidely and turned his face away, but held his hand out just the same. 

Rogers sat the phones gently into Loki’s grasp, and then, when Loki refused to speak, he shuffled his feet for a moment. 

“Do you want me to show you how to use them? That way you can show Grima and--” Loki thrilled at how hopeful the Captain sounded. Good. Time to dash that and remind him of the game being played. 

“Really, Captain? He hardly speaks to you when you’re here-- why should he bother when you aren’t? When he has me to speak to? And you are strangers-- I don’t think it’s made it into your head yet. You do not know him. Why should you gift him with this? Why should he accept it?” His words were cold and calculated to cut deeply. 

“Loki, why are you so upset? I didn’t mean-- if you think it will offend him--” Rogers seemed to be grasping at straws, trying to find the right thing to say. 

“It offends me, Captain!” Loki spat, sitting up and swivelling so that his feet pointed at the floor. “Is everything you do-- everything you’ve done for me-- motivated by your feelings for him? I am not a stand in, or a go between, or a shadow. I am not your fix for your lost friend. I can’t bring your Bucky back to you, and I don’t know if I would even if I had the power to!” He began stalking towards Rogers, steps slow and heavy not only with his weakness, but with the intent he put behind them. “If that is all you want of me, you may as well let your SHIELD kill or imprison me as they have wanted to ever since I arrived.” He had worked himself into a frenzy real enough to cause the alarms to go off outside of his room, and several day nurses, as well as Doctor Rivera, to come running. 

Rogers stood, slack jawed and horrified, looking on as he wobbled, free standing and no doubt wild looking, his hair gone greasy and slumping in his face, his mouth thin and eyes angry. He must look a fright, all sharp angles and bones pulling at his skin, but he was alive, he was furious, he was standing on his own two feet, and he was elated. He hadn’t felt this fully himself in a long time. He felt somehow victorious, if only briefly, and as his knees buckled, it wasn’t the Captain who caught him. 

“You should leave.” Grima’s voice said from above him, the words vibrating through his chest, where Loki’s face had ended up buried as he was caught. 

Loki snuck a glance outward to take in the expressions of those gathered-- the tableau one of confusion and fear, Doctor Rivera seemingly concerned, Rogers looking stricken, the nurses unsure what to do. It would have been complete, if not for Sharon, who had managed to squeeze between the handlers, seemingly unruffled and staring him dead in the face, her head cocked quizzically. 

Grima, though, was ignoring them, and had turned his back to the door, lifting Loki easily as though he were no more than a child’s toy, and laying him on his bed as gently as though he were glass. 

Grima pressed a hand to the side of Loki’s face, making it so that he could not turn his head back to look at those beyond them. Loki thrilled at how intimate this setting seemed, how cared for he appeared to those looking. 

“What happened?” Grima asked softly, as though there were none around to hear.  
Loki wasn’t sure how to play it now, angry or victimized. He realized he was tired-- bone-tired, having pushed his body beyond what it was really ready to be doing. 

“He brought you something.” Loki said as dully as he could, gesturing at the phones he’d dropped on the bed upon his return to it. “So you can contact him whenever you like.” 

Grima lifted it in his metal hand, and for one wild moment, Loki thought he might crush it with the power that lay in that fist. Instead, Grima turned back to the door, obviously unsurprised to see the Captain unmoved and Rivera looking on, despite the rest of them having cleared out. 

“I would like to speak with you.” Grima said simply, straightening from Loki’s side and drawing up to his full height. “Will you be alright, Loki?” He asked. Loki nodded, allowing his eyes to drift closed. 

“Tired.” He said softly, and Grima smoothed his hair back off of his face. 

“Sleep.” He said simply, and left, taking the others along with him. Loki waited until the door had closed, then reached out blindly until he had grasped his own Stark phone in his fist. He shoved both under his pillow, but held onto it like a lifeline while he let himself rest. 

He deserved it.  
***

“Doctor Rivera, would it be possible for Ca- for Steve and I to speak privately in your office?” 

If Steve had been expecting anything, it wasn’t that. He’d been tensed since Bucky had ushered them out of Loki’s room, and a bit afraid that it would come to blows. 

“I-- don’t see why not, as long as Captain Rogers doesn’t mind?” Talia looked to him and he nodded without even thinking. Even if they did get physical, at least it would get him and B--Grima as far away from the other residents and staff as possible.  
“Alright, excellent. I’m going to go talk to our osteologist and set up an x-ray to be sure Loki didn’t injure himself with that display, for once he wakes up.”

Grima nodded his acquiescence, obviously not about to challenge her when it came to Loki’s health and wellbeing. Better to think of him as Grima, too, Steve realized. He would hesitate less if he had to hit him. 

But once they were alone and the doors behind them had been closed, Bucky turned to face him. 

“Why was he upset, Steve?” He asked, calm but direct. 

“He said-- he thinks I’m just using him to get close to you. I’m not, though-- I mean, he and I… I thought we had at least some sort of… of rapport, if not friendship, even before he came here. I didn’t mean.” He sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “I think I’ve really messed up. I know he has a lot of… inadequacy fears. I think that’s it, and I think… I think he doesn’t believe anyone could actually want to be around him without ulterior motives. I should have been more careful.” 

“Oh.” Grima’s voice sounded small to Steve’s ears, and it put him on the defensive. 

“Oh? Is that all you have to say? Did you really think I would purposely try to hurt him, of all people?” Steve snapped, gesturing at the door as if that would illustrate anything. 

“It isn’t that, of course you wouldn’t. I think I may have compared him to you, back when Bucky knew you. Back when I knew you, before… everything.” 

The settled him down instantly and was sobering.  
“What did you say to-- you remember?” There were two questions there, but it was hard for him to get them out.  
“Loki told me how I learned piano. The first time, not now that he’s refreshing my memory. And then I remembered meeting you. How I admired you, then.” He spoke the same way he always had, since he returned, in short bursts and without feeling, like he was making a report. 

“So you compared him and the me you remembered? Because we’re both scrawny little weaklings?” The words felt bitter in his mouth, and though he knew he wasn’t that boy anymore, he still crossed his arms, subtly grasping for the muscles he now had, just to be certain they were still there. 

“It’s the resolve. Still, I think he probably began worrying he was a replacement for you. But I was… distraught, when we spoke of it. He couldn’t tell me for fear of hurting my feelings. You, on the other hand…” 

“He’s not worried about hurting mine.” Steve wasn’t sure if that hurt more or made him feel relieved. Bucky needed to be taken care of, and clearly, even if it was just in small ways, Loki was doing that. At the same time, he’d really thought they had grown some small bond, built on at least a little respect. Apparently not. 

He must have been frowning, his discomfort showing, and Grima had nothing to say to discourage his line of thought. So instead, he quickly changed the subject. 

“Did you find anything out about Cynthia for me?” Grima asked, and Steve shook his head. 

“I looked, but there aren’t any records of her that I found. Are you sure her case is recent? It may have just been lost when we had to restart SHIELD.” He spread his hands. “It’s been rough trying to get everything back where it should be.”

“She celebrated her fifteenth birthday today, and she has spent everything that she knows of life here. If NEST has only been operational for three years, where is the rest of it?”

Steve stared at him.  
“Is she an amnesiac?” 

“She isn’t being treated as such, and any inquiries into her past, made by her or otherwise, are rebuffed.” 

“You’ve spoken to Talia Rivera about your concerns?” Grima’s method of delivery made him jerk into his own Captain America setting, and that felt strange, given that the subject of conversation was a barely fifteen year old girl. He wondered whether this was paranoia, or if there was something further at play here, and he tried to think how best to help get to the bottom of it. He knew from the lectures that Sam had given about returning soldiers that it was important not to invalidate these feelings, whether there was a logical basis for them or not. 

He’d seen the girl once or twice, and while vaguely familiar, she didn’t seem threatening. Inquisitive, polite, he might even go so far as to call her sweet, but he hadn’t paid enough attention to her to realize anything might be wrong, let alone on this scale. 

“No. She’s the one who does the rebuffing. The only person I’ve spoken to about this other than you is Loki. He’s been helping me keep an eye on her, and he agrees with me-- there’s something off.” 

Steve froze, wondering if this had been Grima’s idea or Loki’s, and if the latter, for what reason. 

“You don’t think she’s dangerous, do you?” Steve asked, knowing that he couldn’t broach the subject of Loki’s involvement without upsetting Grima, especially not so soon after the scene he and Loki had just had-- which he now knew he needed to apologize for.

“She has the potential for it, I think, but no conscious know how. Which is why we’re watching her.” He saw Grima eyeing him for a moment, but waited to see what else he had to say. “Do you trust Loki?” Was what finally came out, and Steve sat down in Talia’s chair, trying to think how to answer. 

“More than I should and less than I want to?” He settled on, realizing as he spoke just how Loki of an answer that was. “I think trusting him fully would be foolish, I want to trust him, but I also can’t forget his track record.” 

“Like you can’t forget mine.” Grima said softly, and Steve sighed. This wasn’t an argument he wanted to get into. Not right now, when they suddenly had more important things to talk about. 

“There’s a difference between forgiving and forgetting. But look, I don’t know-- I don’t know where I should look for more about Cynthia. I’ll try, and I’ll only contact you about it through your phone. If you’re worried about anyone else seeing messages, just delete them after. Tony assures me they’re some of the most secure lines of communication available to us now.” 

Grima ducked his head gratefully. “You should talk to Rivera now. She can’t hear into here, and I’m sure it’s driving her nuts. She doesn’t know about my inquiries, and I think it’s best it stays that way.”

“Alright.” Steve said, the word softened with the swelling of hope he felt. He stood and moved for the door, but hesitated. “If you ever have questions or… want to talk about things you remember.” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the offer hung there. 

“Thanks.” Grima said, and it wasn’t a promise, but it would do. For now. 

He left and left the door open in his wake. It didn’t take long for the measured clicking of Talia’s heels to cross the threshold and close it again behind her.  
“How did that go?” She asked. 

In a sardonic inversion of their usual meetings, he stayed where he was and gestured for her to take a seat.

She clacked primly to the chair her patients usually sat in and sank gracefully into it. If she was bothered at all by the loss of her usual high ground, she didn’t show it. 

“It… wasn’t what I expected.” He said honestly. “I think Loki’s a good influence on him. Before the fall, he would have called me names, and after, he would have tried to kill me. Or avoided me. We talked it out.” 

“That’s good to hear.” She simply waited for him to tell her more. The silence dragged on for a few solid seconds before he decided to just get it over with. She had things to say, but she wouldn’t until he gave her something first. That was how this worked.

“Loki thinks I’m using him to get close to Bu--to Grima. Grima gave him the impression that he was comparing him to how I used to be. And through all of that, Loki’s doing his best to help Grima remember, and feeling underappreciated for it.” Steve felt chagrined by the entire episode, and having to relay it made him wish Loki wasn’t asleep now, so he could go back and set things right. He consoled himself with the fact that now he had other ways of contacting him, and he found himself fingering the phone in his pocket in anticipation. 

“Do you think Loki will ever feel he is suitably appreciated?” She asked, sharp eyes following the gesture and no doubt drawing conclusions from it, though she didn’t bring it up. 

“I think it’ll take time for him to realize not everyone is… his family.” 

“Hm.” She was noncommittal. “And what about Barnes? Grima. How do you think he’s handling being this close to Loki?” 

“Really well, actually.” Steve told her, enthused and unable to hide it. “He’s started remembering a little. He remembered meeting me. Loki asked for a story to tell him, and so I told him how Bucky learned to play piano, and Loki told him, and I guess that helped him remember.” 

“Ah.” She sat back in her chair, looking satisfied. “So there’s what Barnes is getting out of it. I had wondered-- Loki obviously gains the strength and presence of Barnes, as well as the power of having him as a follower-- but as far as Barnes is concerned, Loki’s a bit like a kid at a petting zoo. Barnes will let him keep petting him, waiting for that next kibble to come his way. He’s looking for someone who will help him define who he is. It’s no accident that Grima isn’t an English word, or Russian, or even a German one. Barnes didn’t choose it. Loki did.” 

“He’s not a show pony!” Steve fired back hotly, instantly defensive. “You wanted Bucky to remember things-- he is. You wanted him to get close to people, to open up, start talking-- that’s happening. You wanted Loki to start treating people like they matter-- Barton told me about your email. It sounds like all of this is happening. What more do you want from them?” He really didn’t understand the friction on her behalf, but suddenly he understood their refusal to discuss their concerns about Cynthia with her. 

“I want them to be happy and healthy, and I want there to be no more covert meetings. Did Barnes tell you that he disabled our video cameras and microphones and spent the night in Loki’s bed?”

Steve wasn’t sure what about that statement caused the heat to drain from his face and a cold wash to come over it instead. 

He got it. Times were different. Guys and gals got together all the time, sometimes with other guys and gals, respectively. He’d been there when Tony brought home a man or two, and when Nat had had no luck getting him to date any of the ladies she’d picked out for him, she’d politely asked if his tastes ran in the opposite direction. It wasn’t that, it wasn’t because they were men. 

Maybe it was because they had grown that close, that quickly, or the very real fear of one or both damaging one another physically or emotionally… 

“Did either of them say anything about it to you?” He asked, not quite willing to ask for details, though his mind was busy trying to supply them just the same. 

“Loki said that Barnes got nightmares. That’s all I’ve managed to get out of them so far.” 

“Nightmares happen to the best of us.” Steve found himself saying faintly, mind whirring. 

Was it because he thought he knew Bucky’s tastes? He’d been so popular with the ladies, back in the day… then again, this wasn’t Bucky, exactly. No, that wasn’t it. He didn’t know why, exactly, he was as bothered as he was. Only that he needed to figure it out, and he wasn’t willing to do it in front of Doctor Rivera. 

“Are you okay, Steve?” She asked, and he stood. 

“I am. A lot to sort through is all.” He said. “If you’ll excuse me, Doctor…” He began to walk away, but she called after him. 

“Remember that with someone like Barnes, the mind is almost always more vulnerable than the body. If you’re willing to trust Loki with one but not the other, your priorities may be skewed.” 

He heard her but didn’t respond and kept walking, suddenly only too ready to leave.


	11. Eleven

Her friends lingered around her always, and she was never alone. Loki had spent the day watching, observing, trying to subtly figure out Cynthia’s schedule, trying to see if his ever was free and unobserved when hers was. But since their last meeting, Rivera had seen fit to reinstate his careful schedule and heighten his monitoring. He was surrounded nearly as often as she was, and the increase in proximity of his guards made Grima nervous. 

This, in turn, only made him visit after hours again, though he made sure to leave their invasive cameras and recordings running. Loki was sure the entire situation was driving Rivera positively mad. It delighted him. 

The only time he was allowed to be alone with someone other than in the dead of night was now, when Rogers had arrived and he was waiting for him to make his way to his door. Olivia, who had spent the morning ostensibly straightening his sparse room, had stepped outside when the speakers in his room announced The Captain’s arrival. 

When Rogers knocked and he called for him to enter, he saw Olivia waiting outside, along with Bruno, who had apparently been there all along, perhaps for her protection.

“Captain?” Loki asked, not having expected him back so soon after they had quarreled, though he rationalized that perhaps he was back because they had. 

“Did something happen? There’s not usually people standing guard outside…” Rogers asked.

“I think Rivera has grown more suspicious of me. She’s put me under more restrictive observation, at least. Perhaps punishment for Grima’s visits, or our… disagreement. I am sorry, by the way. I should not have allowed myself to react so childishly.” He let his words spill out smoothly, bringing Rogers’s attention to the subject he most wanted to focus on. 

“It wasn’t childish. I was insensitive. I didn’t realize-- Grima and I spoke afterwards. I’m sorry.” Rogers’s own apology felt rushed, and Loki felt again like he had the high ground. 

“To be fair, it was bound to be one of us eventually. Grima would have grown concerned and unsure of the time you and I spend together-- he may, yet-- and you have shown signs of jealousy at his and my own interactions. And you and he have a history that I cannot possibly compare with. It would do us all well to spend some time together, but it would also do well to have you and he take time away from me, and, if you can manage it, away from this place. I am sure if you phrase it as wanting time with him outside of the realm of my influence, Doctor Rivera will do her utmost to accommodate you.” 

“I might, if you’re okay with it. And if he is.” Rogers hesitated, and Loki saw but was willing to wait, to let him take the time he needed. It wasn’t much time, though. “Can I ask-- about the night before that, when he was in your bed…?” 

Loki buried the flash of anger that rose first, replacing it with wry amusement. 

“What is it you want to know, Captain?” He spoke with a smirk in place, letting it flavor his words. “Are you concerned for his chastity? I have already assured Doctor Rivera that I have not seduced him, nor do I have any plans to. He had a nightmare, and came to me, his friend, to help him diffuse it. That is all, I promise you.” 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to point fingers or-- This isn’t about you. Wait, no, listen.” The Captain commanded, not turning stern so much as losing the soft edge to his voice. Loki closed his mouth, which he had, admittedly, opened to argue.  
“When Doctor Rivera implied you guys were sleeping together, I got this… ugly feeling. I was angry, or worried, I don’t know. Upset. And I went home and thought about it, and it isn’t-- it isn’t about you, okay? If you and he were-- I’ll admit I’m relieved you aren’t, but even that relief feels ugly. If it was otherwise, I’d support you, okay? Because I would like to think we’re friends. Even if I haven’t been a very good one lately. To either you or him. But I want to be. I’m just trying to figure out how… and trying to find what it is in me that made me feel that way. I’m afraid it’s just jealousy. Not-- not because I want to-- just. You’ve grown so close, and it’s left me realizing that I don’t have… that.” He shrugged, his words tapering off. Loki took pity, because he looked lost. 

“Captain, if I may?” He paused, waiting for Rogers’ nod that he might continue. “Your relationship with Bucky was very similar to my relationship with Grima now. There was an imbalance in physical strength, but an equal imbalance in the opposite direction of will and spirit. For us, it is mind versus body. He does not know his own mind, and my helping another brings me out of mine. I would no more endanger him than you would have.” 

Rogers looked pained, though, and Loki realized that had been the wrong thing to say.  
“Thing is, though, I did. All the time. I fought guys too big for me to handle, and it was always him who had to pull me out. It was him I asked to follow me back behind enemy lines, and it was him picking up the shield-- my shield-- him protecting me is what led to him getting caught, tortured… I though he died because of me, do you understand? And I can’t-- Loki, no matter what, more than anything else, if you feel like you owe me anything, just help me be sure that doesn’t happen again. I can’t stand it again.”

“I cannot do much, Captain, you know that. But I will not go out of my way to harm him. Indeed, no matter what I may say to make it seem otherwise, I am doing my best to protect him, even from myself. And that is why you must take him elsewhere, talk to him. Get to know him away from all of this. It is one thing to befriend him in captivity, but take the bilgesnipe out of his cage, and see if you are still friends then. Better to give him some trust, and receive some in a slow exchange.” He thought he could see the Captain’s estimation of him going up as he spoke, and he fought to stifle the small flutter of pleasure in his chest that grew from the expression on his face. 

“Remember when you said you hated to make a liar of people, Loki?” Rogers asked him. He didn’t wait for a real response, but Loki dipped his head a bit, just the same as he pressed on. “I think you’re a lot better than anyone thinks you are. Maybe even you.”

Loki felt his mouth twist, and he sighed.  
“There are nice monsters, Captain, that does not make them less monstrous.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster.” He said, and Loki almost wanted to let himself agree, take the compliment and thank him. But he couldn’t.

“There are some basic truths that cannot be modified by the strength of belief alone.” He grimaced, almost apologizing for having said it. “Nevermind though, Captain. It is enough that you think so.”

Rogers seemed to want to say more, but he let it go, and just smiled his sad smile and stood, patting Loki on the shoulder.  
“Can I get you anything? Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked instead of pushing the point, and Loki pursed his lips. 

“Only speak with him, Captain. And try not to allow Rivera to play on our jealousies. We are, as she would say, one another’s support systems.” He gave him one of those carefully measured smiles, one that pulled his mouth higher on one side while he let his worried eyes play on sympathies and pull at heartstrings. A smile that made him look as though he were putting on a brave face. They came so easily after long centuries of practice, but for the first time, he tasted the lie in his mouth as he did.

 

That night, as Loki lay awake in bed, holding his book and squinting through the mandatory darkness of the hour, waiting for Grima to come and talk to him in the semi private of the hour, he was taken by surprise by a vibrating in his pocket. 

He’d forgotten the Stark phone was there, but he fumbled it out in relatively short order.  
>Sorry if I am waking you. 

He read the screen, brows knitting, and then nearly dropped it when the next message came in.  
>Wanted to let you know I did try to talk to Grima. He said he didn’t want to come out with me, lest he offend you. 

Loki huffed out an annoyed sigh and rubbed his brow.  
>Also, delete this after you read it in case of prying eyes, but I made those inquiries you and Grima asked me to. It’s above my pay grade, I guess. I’m going to ask a friend for advice. I’ll come back in a day or two and let you know how it goes. 

Loki deleted the message almost as quickly as he’d read it, surmising that it was about Cynthia.  
His fingers moved slowly over the keys on the screen, gaining surety as they made quiet tapping against the glass. 

>Thank you Captain. I will speak with him and look forward to the next time you visit.

No additional messages came, so he sat the phone down on his side table and no sooner had the plastic touched the wood than his door opened. 

“Did Steve send you a goodnight message, too?” Grima asked as he sat on the edge of Loki’s bed, amusement dripping from his voice. Loki wasn’t sure he’d seen Grima in such a mood before. It didn’t entirely mesh with the idea he had of the man, but he thought that might be rather the point. He just nodded and went along with it.

“He did. He wanted to let me know that he had asked you to come out for a day, but you had declined for my sake.” 

Even in the dark, he could see the way a small frown creased Grima’s face. 

“Was that wrong?” He asked, his voice suddenly far less jovial. Loki cursed himself for not keeping to light conversation, but couldn’t do anything but go along with it now. 

“No, of course not. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. But, if you did want to, by all means, please do. If you don’t, that’s fine. However the Captain and I had a talk today about jealousy, and how we all are guilty of it in some measure. And I actually suggested that he ask you-- so that he might have the chance to speak with you, without Rivera having any grounds for suspicion of my guiding your interactions. I don’t want her to have any chance or reason to keep us any further apart.”

“I ran into her on the way here.” Grima said then, regaining his humor, but failing to comment on his own wants in regards to Rogers. “My phone went off outside her office. She came out and looked resigned, and asked that I remind you of your appointment tomorrow night for physical therapy.” 

Loki groaned.  
“Well if you would like to come along tomorrow night, I would love to see Nico’s face when you end up being of more help than both of the attendants he brings along. Again, though, you don’t have to if you’d rather not.”

“I’d be glad to. Not as if I’m of much use elsewhere.” There was a brittle edge to the humor there, and Loki felt for the man. 

“Well. Just so you are prepared, my last two sessions have ended in frustration and tears. So, if that makes you uncomfortable…” Loki trailed off, unwilling to see how Grima might react if made uncomfortable. 

“You’ve helped me through my tears. I’d be a poor friend not to return the favor.” He said simply, reverting to his short sentences and blunt near blandness. It was a show of solemnity, Loki thought, and he reached out and clasped the back of Grima’s flesh hand, where it sat in his lap. 

“I appreciate that, too.” He said. Grima flinched and Loki went to take his hand away, until the cool metal of Grima’s other grasped it gently and held it in place. 

“Did Steve also tell you about the dead end he hit?” Grima asked quietly. 

Loki hummed an affirmative.  
“I think perhaps we should contact the source directly. As privately as possible.” 

“Now?” Grima seemed surprised, but not adverse.

“I don’t see why not.” Loki thought quickly and spoke as softly as possible. “If Rivera knows you’re here, she won’t question the sounds of you leaving. But she would wonder at the noise of my chair…”  
“I’ll carry you, if you’ll permit me.” Grima offered immediately, and Loki smiled. 

“Of course. Thank you. But can you still open the door however you do it, if you’re holding me?” His mind whirred as he sped through the possible pitfalls that this spontaneous outing might encounter. 

Grima held up his hand and, in what little light there was, Loki watched as his palm reconfigured itself, and a thin strip of metal stuck out of it like a blade. 

“I just replicated one of the magnetic strips on the maximum access keycards. We shouldn’t have a problem.” Grima reported. Unlike his usual toneless reports, though, this had the ring of pride to it. It made Loki feel proud of his friend, as well. 

“Alright. Then, shall we?” He lifted his arms up, and Grima stood, scooping his non metal arm under Loki and forming something of a chair out of his forearm. Loki wrapped his arms around his neck and shoulder to help hold himself in place.

“You weigh hardly anything.” This close to him, Loki could see in minute detail the way the muscles of Grima’s face shifted beneath his skin for his frown. 

“I know.” Loki said softly, allowing all of the shame he really felt to seep into the words. It froze discussion of the topic in its tracks, and he could hear the way Grima sucked air in harshly through his nose. 

“Sorry.” he mumbled. 

“It’s alright.” Loki assured him. 

 

Out in the hallway, Loki was not surprised to find that Grima moved with a swift confidence that made the low visibility of the darkness seem inconsequential. There was no hesitation as he rounded a corner and began taking the stairs. He didn’t question how well Grima knew the layout of the house, nor how he knew where not to step to avoid making any noises between Loki’s room and Cynthia’s. 

With a jolt, Loki realized he did not even know where Grima’s room was, nor had he even seen this area of the house. Not, he reasoned, that he was actually ‘seeing’ it now. The grand windows above the staircase let in a little starlight, painting the room a soft blue that faded all too easily into the inky void of the shadows. But Loki was not afraid. Not with a shadow of his own.

Grima stopped before a door and slid his palm across the reader. The door unlocked with a click, and he let them in. 

Cynthia woke before the door had slid closed behind them, and Loki heard her spit something out and then breathe in to scream.  
He thought to say something, but his mouth had not even opened before Grima strode forward. 

“Cynthia, shh, it’s me, it’s-- Grima. Barnes. It’s me and Loki. I promise we won’t touch you, we aren’t going to hurt you. We’re just trying to find out why the doctors here are keeping you a secret. Is that okay?” 

She didn’t yell, so Loki assumed she must be thinking. The room was slightly more lit than his, but even so he could only make out the shapes of her sitting up, not her expressions. 

“Alright…” She said, her voice fuzzy with sleep and the word dubious, but an agreement just the same. 

“I’m going to put Loki on your computer chair, okay? Like I said, neither of us is going to touch you.” Grima was smart, telling her each move he meant to make before making it. But it seemed she was less worried about them molesting her, and more worried about him. 

“Where’s his chair?” She asked.

“It’s much more difficult to sneak upstairs in something with wheels.” He told her wryly, and she laughed.

“Oh yeah, I guess so.” He saw her settle in to sit more comfortably, bending her knees and wrapping her arms around them. From this angle, he could see how her hair was mussed from her pillow, and the way she tilted her head, trying to make sense of this visit. “Sooooooooo…” She said, once he had been deposited and found his balance. “What do you want, exactly?”

“There is something wrong with your past, isn’t there? Something no one wants you to talk about.” Loki spoke gently, intent on coaxing the information from her. 

“It’s not that. I just really don’t remember much.” She looked down, seemingly ashamed, and began toying with a dark shape on the bed. 

He looked at Grima, unable to make out his expression, but knowing full well that their suspicions were intact and unsatisfied by this apparent dead end.

“When we came in, you had something in your mouth. What was it?” Grima asked suddenly. 

Cynthia lifted her hand, dark thing included.  
“It’s a mouth guard. I… sometimes I get seizures at night, and it stops my tongue from getting all torn up.” She sounded reticent, no doubt afraid of this aspect of her physiology and worried they would think ill of her for it. 

This, then, was why she had not screamed immediately.

“Seizures?” Grima repeated, perplexed. “I had no idea. They usually say when someone is at risk of a seizure, so the other residents will know how to react.”

“Oh, it’s only at night. I have anticonvulsants… they make it happen not as much.” She responded, flippant. Dismissive. But they could all hear the stress in her voice. 

“What-- have the doctors spoken with you about what may cause it?” Loki asked. 

“No, they just said it was from over exposure. I don’t know to wha--” She stopped suddenly.  
Loki grasped at her silence, sure it held something more. 

“What is it?”

“I don’t remember much at all.” She said slowly, “But there was this… chair. Sometimes I have dreams. Usually on the nights I have seizures… and then it happens again more often for a while. But there’s this chair, like a dentist’s chair. But there’s a ring around the top where your head goes. It looks like a halo, you know, like from those paintings on the history channel. Not above your head, but behind it. Like stained glass, but made of metal. Old metal. And the bottom of the halo has arms like it’s praying. But then you get in the chair, and the metal clamps go around your arms and they hold you still… the room dances, but you can’t. All you can do is let your head roll around, and it’s hard. Your eyes are heavy, but you’re scared--” 

Loki felt Grima’s hand clamp down on his shoulder, almost uncomfortably tight, and he reached up to hold it, to remind him that he wasn’t alone. They listened, horrified, as she continued. Her voice had changed, lost the high pitched girlish quality of it. She had begun to drone, the report the same sort of bland speech that Grima sometimes gave. 

“There’s a mouth guard for that, too. And then the head part comes down, and it zaps, and you can smell it. It’s warm, and the hairs on the side of your face feel like they’re burning. There’s so much fear and then the pain starts, but you can’t get away from it, you’re held in place and…” She stopped. “I don’t remember what happens next. I remember that happening at least three times, maybe more. They all slide together.” 

“That’s what was done to me.” Grima spoke softly. “When they made me into a weapon, that’s how… Cynthia, do you know who did that to you? Was it Hydra?” 

Across the room, they saw the girl draw herself in tighter. 

“I don’t know anybody else, but I remember seeing Doctor Rivera there. She said. She said it was going to help me forget. Help me be the person I was supposed to be. I don’t know what that means.” 

“Neither do we.” Loki said softly, looking up at what he could see of Grima’s face and then back through the darkness towards the bed. “But we are going to find out. I know this is probably scary, but I need you not to tell anybody about what you told us, what you remembered. If you do, they may do it to you again. Captain America is going to help us make sure that they don’t but we need you to help us until we can get everything taken care of, okay? So you have to pretend we weren’t here, that you don’t know anything. That everything is normal. Can you do that?”

“I-- yeah. I can do that.” She didn’t sound very sure, but there was nothing they could do about it. Not without scaring her further. Loki sighed. 

“Cynthia? I promise you, everything is going to be okay, if you just trust us. We’ll make sure this doesn’t happen any more.”  
Grima squeezed his shoulder once more, then let go. 

Loki turned to him.  
“Grima, I need you to do whatever it is that you did to disable the video and audio in my room, but I need you to remove all proof that we ever left it. Can you do that?”

“Yeah.” Grima sounded shaken, but seemed to take comfort from having a plan of action, a goal to set his mind on. A mission. Loki felt guilty for filling that hole for him, but he couldn’t risk letting Grima shake apart right now. Not in front of Cynthia. They had to look like they really were in control and able to help her, or she could have no reason to trust them or believe they would be able to keep her safe.

“Tomorrow I want you to go see Rivera. Tell her that the Captain asked you to join him outside of the NEST, and that you think you want to go. I need you to pretend to her that tonight never happened, too, okay? You need to make her think you are excited at the prospect of having Rogers to yourself without me around.” He was thinking quickly now, formulating as much of a plan as he was able. “And then when you’re out with him, have him check you for bugs, and then tell him everything you know, both about Cynthia, and about what was done to you. Enemies to the Captain may be running NEST, and we can’t risk them knowing they’ve been found out until we’ve had a chance to tell him.” 

“Alright. And what will you do?” Grima asked. Loki pursed his lips. 

“I am going to talk to a few people here, very carefully. It is best to know, if the worst comes to pass, who can be relied on as an ally… and who must be counted among the enemy.” 

“Chris and Sharon wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt me. They’re my friends. They aren’t enemies.” There was a hard edge of anger to her voice, and Cynthia actually stood from her bed, glorious in all of the defiance as her young frame could muster. 

“Not them, of course.” Loki told her quickly, reassuring with tone as well as words. “I would never suspect them of betraying you. But everyone has different motives, and in this place where fighting back against those holding us captive may mean the ruination of a second chance…” He trailed off, confident that she was smart enough to see where he was going with that.

“So… why do you want to help me, then?” Her words were deceptively simple, her tone and mind sharp with the distrust he had known must find its way to her eventually.

“We may not be counted as good men, but sometimes people do things in the name of good that even monsters such as we can’t allow.” He felt grim, and wished again that he had his power returned to him, though not for his own gain this time, but for the destruction of those who would harm a child.

“Then… thank you.” She said, and even across the room and in the dark, he could see the way her shoulders sagged in relief. It reminded him of Rogers, the day he had come in and slept in Loki’s bed after a mission, the way the exhaustion had settled all at once and the rigid lines of control he forced into himself had come down.

Cynthia thus assured of their intentions, Loki looked up at Grima. 

“We have much to do. Shall we?” He raised his arms, feeling like a useless infant, only able to assist a little in Grima’s lifting him from the seat. 

Grima returned him to his room and went on his way to destroy any evidence of their departure, erasing the tape in Loki’s room and looping the one of Cynthia sleeping in her own. 

Loki, for his part, sat up in his bed, organizing his thoughts and worrying that the people running this facility would get wind of their knowledge before Grima and Rogers could return from their outing. 

It was good they they would be on the outside, and though he knew he should be concerned for himself, his mind tarried on what process could be so terrifying as to break a man as strong as Grima, leave a girl with seizures, and remove the memories from both of them.

Nothing, he was sure, that he wanted to tangle with in his current state. But he didn’t see that he had much choice. He needed to get to the other residents and get them rallying behind Cynthia’s safety as soon as possible. 

****

Steve got a call early the next morning, out of nowhere, from Grima. 

He answered it on the first ring, a little out of breath from his morning workout and more than a little afraid that something had happened to Loki. 

“Hello?” He asked, his Captain America command voice firmly in place. That seemed to be the wrong decision though, because instantly Grima hesitated. Mentally cursing himself, Steve tried again, speaking more gently now. “Grima? You there?”

“Steve?” He sounded unsure, but not panicked. 

“Sorry-- I thought, when I saw it was you. Um, is everything okay?” He felt his brow furrowing, trying to imagine why Grima would call him. Loki was right, the guy seemed to want little to do with him outside of having him find information. Maybe that was what he needed now. 

“Everything is fine. I was wondering if you still wanted to spend time together outside of the home? Doctor Rivera is here with me. She says she thinks it’s a good idea.” He kept his voice neutral, not the dead hollow of him reporting on things, but… Steve still felt like there was something he was supposed to be reading between the lines. 

Obviously he wasn’t free to speak if Doctor Rivera was there- that one was obvious. He needed to be outside of the house for something. Steve wondered whether that was for something he needed to do, or something Loki needed him to, and how much he could trust either of them. 

“Yeah, of course!” He answered quickly, trying to think on his feet. “Was there somewhere special you’d like to go?” 

“I was hoping maybe you would show me some of the places you and Bucky-- you and I-- used to. Whatever.” He could hear Grima shrugging and he couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. 

“Yeah, yeah I can do that. When did--”

“Tomorrow?” The word was sharp, almost insistent, and the strain that he heard there was the only thing that told him this wasn’t just what Grima was saying it was now, though he’d suspected. 

“I can do tomorrow, sure. Yeah. Anything else?”

“Can someone. I don’t want Loki to feel left alone.” It was the first time he’d mentioned Loki so far in the call, the longest Steve thought they’d spoken without him coming up. He considered how Grima had changed directions mid sentence, and wondered if there was some kind of threat that he didn’t see. It made his skin crawl a little. 

“I think Barton wanted to talk to him, anyway. I’ll ask him.” He promised, mind already clicking over to Natasha and how it wouldn’t be odd for her to go along as well. In fact, it would be strange for him to show up to transport Grima without backup… this would be a trial to pull off. Nevermind clearing it with Fury. He thought this was one of those times it was better to ask forgiveness than permission. And especially given Fury’s history of not telling him things, Steve only felt a tiny twinge of guilt to be returning the favor. It wasn’t necessarily the right thing to do, but it was to help people he cared for. It was the thing that it felt right to do. He’d have to hold to that, at least until tomorrow was over. He’d let himself feel bad when Fury was dressing him down for it. 

“So 8 Tomorrow morning okay? Check with Rivera.” He prompted. He heard the phone lowered and the words repeated, and her unflappable voice, muffled by distance.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Grima sounded a little less tense about it. Maybe he was just worried about leaving? Or about being alone with Steve? 

“Alright. See you then.” Steve hung up, unslung the punching bag he’d been in the process of pulverizing, and settled it over his shoulder before beginning to dial on his phone, one handed, while he walked. 

“Tony? Are Clint and Nat home? I need to ask the three of you for a favor…” 

****  
He didn’t realize how nervous he’d been about picking up Grima until it registered that he’d barely slept.  
He’d spent the whole night making a list of places he needed to take him, researching whether or not they were still there, trying to write a list of the memories that he most cherished of the two of them in or around each place. 

He’d tried to stop at around midnight, knowing he’d have to be up by five to get to Avenger tower and leave by six to get there in time, give or take. He’d climbed into bed-- then promptly had to get up to add to the list again.\

He was hopeless, and he alternated between grinning like a mad man and worrying his lip between his teeth, hoping that Bucky didn’t have any bad memories associated with the same places, for Grima to find. 

Natasha had insisted on driving the SUV to NEST, which was probably for the best, between his lack of sleep, the sleep Tony was still getting, and the fact that Clint had climbed into the car clutching a literal pot of coffee to his chest. She seemed, as usual, the most put together of all of them. 

“So, Cap,” She said, her voice rasping just a little, reassuring them all that she was also human and not immune to mornings. “When do you think you’ll be back to pick us up?” 

“I don’t know.” He said honestly. “If it goes bad, maybe sooner than later. I think there may be something afoot, which is why I have Tony with me, and why I wouldn’t leave Loki or send Clint alone. I don’t actually think any of us are in danger--” Clint snorted, and Steve glared but spoke anyway, making his voice sterner, “But they’ve had me looking into something, and I have a feeling they may think they’re in danger.” 

“Are they?” She asked, the question blunt. 

“I don’t know.” He said again, this time less confidence in his words, and he turned to look out the window. The possibilities and worries began crashing around his mind.

Behind him, in the third row, Tony started to snore.  
It proved to be a much longer drive than anticipated. 

When they pulled into the driveway of NEST, Steve wasn’t sure if he was carsick or just sick with nerves. Either way, he’d never been happier to get out of a vehicle, and he was the first one in the front door as a result. 

Let the others take it for eagerness if they wanted; he had always been the kid to rip the bandaid off quick.

“Good Morning, Travis.” He usually didn’t get a chance to greet the other first. But he felt like he was in a hurry today. 

“Morning, Captain Rogers! I hear we’re giving you custody of one of ours today.” Travis spun in his chair to reach behind him and pull out a form.

“Yeah, I’m going to be taking James Barnes-- Grima-- along with Anthony Stark, and Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton will be here for a visit with Loki.” As he spoke, the people in question finally made it through the front doors, Tony looking miraculously alert and put together for having been asleep less than ten minutes previously. 

“All right…” Travis said, drawing the word out as he finished filling in the form and passed it over to Steve. “I’ll need you to sign there, you and Mr. Stark both--” He held out a pen for Tony, who just stared, waited until Steve had signed, and plucked the pen out of his hand to add his own well rehearsed squiggle to the document. He sat both pen and paper down on the counter and shoved it towards Travis with a winning smile. 

“Need anything else from us?” 

“Nuh uh, wait, yeah, ID please?” He held his hand out and Tony casually pressed his wallet into Steve’s hands, pulling out a five as he did. “Where’re your vending machines? I’m starved.” 

“Down this hall, last door on the right.” Travis pointed, and Tony smiled again and took off in the direction he was pointed, while Steve slid his ID out of the plastic sleeve in the expensive leather. 

“Here you go.” He offered it across, Travis took down the information needed from it, and Tony wandered back in while Natasha and Clint began the process of signing in. 

Steve put the ID back and slid the wallet across the counter towards Tony for him to pick up. He nodded silently, smart retort stifled behind the candy bar he’d decided was going to count as breakfast. 

Natasha, meanwhile, was signing herself in using the clipboard that Steve normally saw. 

He didn’t think he’d ever seen her write manually before, but he watched as she traded hands twice before settling on her left one. He didn’t comment. No doubt that, like most of her quirks, had been trained into her, and probably was not full of happy memories. Better to let it lie. 

Clint was straightforward throughout the process, but a little uncharacteristically quiet. Steve could have written it off to the early hour, but it was more likely because it was Loki they were going to see.

All of the necessary office work finished, Travis picked up his desk phone and dialed Talia Rivera’s extension.

“Captain America, Iron man, Black Widow and… um. The scowly arrow guy… are here for Loki and Barnes.” 

Tony and Natasha claimed the visitor chairs, leaving Steve and Clint to wait for the arrival of the people they’d be spending the day with.  
Steve at least was glad for Clint’s silent solidarity- both of them on edge, but trying to keep it hidden.

Neither of them paced, but they did stand a little straighter as the sound of footfall, heels, and wheels approached, Grima pushing Loki in his chair while Talia Rivera followed alongside. 

“Doctor, Loki, Grima…” Steve greeted each one, a smile in place on his face, the same one he used to use for signing autographs and kissing babies. 

“Good morning, gentlemen, and Ms. Romanoff. It’s so good to see you all.” Doctor Rivera’s politeness was perfectly balanced, and Steve got the feel she was gauging everyone in the room.

“Captain,” Loki greeted, then turned to warily face his companions. Grima just nodded, and Steve wondered if he was going to refuse to speak once they had left, if Tony was with them. 

He wished he’d had the forethought to ask, but there was nothing for it now. 

“Loki.” Clint spoke up from beside him, his voice sudden. “I talked to those people you asked me to. Who was left of them, anyway.” Steve saw Loki flinch under the words, and suddenly had to worry about the damage he might be doing leaving Natasha and Clint here with him. 

“Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere-- my room.” Steve heard the word Loki had intended, private, and then the reconsideration, and knew somehow that it wasn’t a slip of the tongue, but rather a veiled barb, directed at Rivera. He stole a glance that way, noting that she appeared unphased, and he wondered again what she might be hiding behind that placid exterior. 

“Loki?” Steve asked. “Will you be okay if I leave Natasha and Clint here with you while Grima and I go out for a bit?” He felt like he was walking on eggshells, and let it show. 

Loki made a face that Steve couldn’t quite read, then shook his head.  
“Captain, it’s unlikely anyone here could do anything worse to me than I have already suffered. Especially in the short time you will be gone. I will be fine.” 

“Loki, you know your safety is among our primary concerns…” Rivera sounded as though it was something she had repeated often. 

“Yes, and if either of these two wanted me dead, there would be not a thing you could do to stop it. Then again, if they wanted me dead, I suspect I already would be.” He inclined his head almost respectfully towards Natasha, and Steve would have sworn for a moment that she smiled. “I will be fine, Captain. Though perhaps you should arrange a means of transportation in the event your Hawk tries too quickly of my company.” 

Not a bad idea, Steve realized. And rude of him not to have considered giving them a way out if needed. 

“Don’t worry.” Natasha said dryly, clearly reading the realization off his face. “If need be, I can call for a ride. We’re all grown ups here.” 

That seemed to settle that, so Steve turned to Tony and Grima. “Are you ready to go?” 

“Captain?” Steve noticed how Grima and Loki tensed when Rivera addressed him, and he had to wonder what they were up to. They looked like guilty children to him. 

“Something I forgot, Doctor?” 

“I just wanted to be sure you know that if anything goes wrong, you can call me, and we’ll send a team out to pick him up.” She shifted her gaze from his face to Grima’s as she said this, turning it from an offer to him to a warning to Grima. It made him itch with an undercurrent of anger. 

“I’m sure we’ll be just fine.” He told her, aware his voice had come out icy. “Tony? Would you like to drive?” 

“That thing? No, I’m good, thanks. Take the front seat, Buddy.”He flapped his hand at Grima. “I think I’m going to have a nap.” Tony, it seemed, could always be counted on to normalize a situation with sheer lack of concern. 

With one last glance back at those staying at NEST and a nod from Clint, Steve opened the front door to Grima, letting him walk out first. 

He stepped outside gingerly, like he thought someone might change their mind, like he might suddenly be in trouble. Steve was content to let him take things at his own pace, glancing around from one tree to another, down the drive, then up at the sun, his face open and wondering and suddenly younger looking, but again Tony broke the moment by walking past Grima, drawing his attention and opening the driver’s side back door. 

Grima snapped back into himself, his face shuttering, and barely glanced at Steve before climbing into the car. 

Once the doors were shut, Steve began talking.  
“So I thought we should go back to our old apartment first, show you the old neighborhood. It’s not quite the same. The corner deli is a--”

“Is it safe to speak frankly here? Can you ensure none will overhear?” Grima spoke lowly, quickly, and evenly, and even Tony sat up in alarm. 

“Hit the blue button, Cap, and then wait til it flashes green. There you go… you’re good, any devices trying to listen in are disabled.” Tony instructed, then turned to face Grima better. “So what gives? I knew this field trip sounded too Hallmark to be true.”

Steve glared him down, but quirked an eyebrow and kept driving back towards New York. 

“Loki and I have reason to believe that NEST has obtained either the machine used for wiping my mind or one like it, and has been employing it to remove Cynthia’s memories.” Steve could almost hear the relief in Grima’s words. 

“Woah, woah… ok, taking it back a notch, you brainwashed, got it. You think S.H.I.E.L.D. is still using Hydra tech? Even after the whole…” He waved his hands a bit, and Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  
“You said you have reason to believe. Have you got any proof?” He asked instead. 

“Loki and I spoke to Cynthia. We destroyed the recordings, but as long as they haven’t used it on her again, she should be able to explain what she remembers again. And what she remembers is…” Grima shuddered. “She described things I had forgotten about, as well as things I wish I could. Additionally, whatever modifications they have done, or perhaps her exposure at so young an age, has left her with seizures. Only at night, she says. Still.” The disgust evident in his voice made Steve’s heart leap. For just a moment, he sounded absolutely like Bucky, talking down about whatever bullies had beat Steve up this week. What followed was a pang of loss, quickly buried. Steve refused to be jealous of a little girl in need of their help.

“And you’re sure it’s people from NEST, not just something she encountered before she was in their care?” Tony spoke carefully, his flippant attitude gone. 

“She said that Doctor Rivera was there-- that she told her it was for the best.” Steve felt ill at the words. 

“So what do you want to do?” Steve asked, trying not to let his grip on the steering wheel become strong enough to break the plastic, trying to drive safely despite being semi blinded by the flash of rage behind his eyes. 

“Take me to SHIELD. I need to know what was done to me, exactly, and I know you have files. I need to talk to your best scientists about what possibilities there are for memory retrieval. I may not be ready to be Bucky again, but if we’re going to reverse the damage done to Cynthia, we’ll need a guinea pig.”

“We’re not going to run tests on you just because you say some girl said some things.” Tony sounded like he was trying to be the responsible one, and Steve felt guilty for disagreeing-- selfish even, because he wanted Bucky back more than anything. But…

“It’s not just that Tony. I’m inclined to believe him. I’ve tried looking for her. Her file is too high a level for my clearance. That wasn’t supposed to be able to happen any more. And if they’re willing to use that, how much of Hydra’s tech is SHIELD still employing? Besides, all we’re looking at doing is reverse engineering technology from sixty years ago. It shouldn’t be that hard for you.” He turned it into a challenge, a dare, even, knowing Tony couldn’t resist.

He saw Tony’s face in the rear view mirror, the rise of his brow and firming of his mouth, before he scoffed and started spewing technobabble to prove that he was more than smart enough to take apart anything that those Nazi assholes had come up with. From the corner of his eye, he saw a shift on Grima’s face and looked over to see him grinning in Steve’s direction.  
When Steve turned to look though, he turned his head to stare out the window. 

They drove in silence for only a few moments before Tony launched himself up between the seats, deactivated the bug killer, and Turned on the radio. He slumped back into his own row, and pulled out his phone. 

“Gentlemen, I am going to hazard a guess and say that the two of you have yet to be exposed to the brilliance of David Bowie. And that’s a shame.” He said frankly, then pressed play. 

 

As they pulled into the underground parking lot at the new headquarters, Steve was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Tony rolled down the back window and waved cheerfully at the security detail while blasting some gobbledygook so loud, Steve worried his ears might bleed. 

It seemed to do the trick though. None of them stopped to ask who Grima was. 

 

They successfully smuggled Grima into the lower labs, and while Tony began his hacker tricks to access Cynthia’s files as well as the encrypted parts of Bucky’s, Steve stood watch over Bruce drawing blood from Grima’s flesh arm. 

“Do you have any idea how much of your arm still exists under the metal?” Bruce was asking him, his manner oddly comforting despite the words. 

Steve hadn’t had much opportunity to see Bruce working with people outside of the team, and certainly not in a situation where he was gentling a patient. It was a whole new side to him to consider, and he filed it away as something to reflect on when he wasn’t actively making sure they didn’t do anything to alarm or trigger a panic attack in Grima. 

“Shoulder. They took it off a few times, replaced it with newer models. This was the latest, right before…” He waved his metal hand to gesture at Steve, and the ghost of a lopsided smile appeared. “The last upgrade.” It sounded bitter. Steve wondered why. 

“That would be why we couldn’t get the scans to work, then. It’s probably some alloy that Hydra experimented with to hide their tech from casual interference. Smart.” Bruce was sort of muttering to himself while he moved the rubber stoppered vial to the centrifuge and set it spinning. 

“Cap? You want to have a look at this?”  
Tony asked from the other side of his see-through screen. 

Steve could see that it was the schematics for the conditioning chair that Bucky had been strapped into to become the Winter Soldier. 

He circled around just the same, a sense of dread building in his stomach. 

“Talk to me.” He said, his hand resting on the back of Tony’s chair and leaning in to see. 

“So, ECT we’ve seen before, it involves a bilateral electrode placement and a quick shock to relieve a host of symptoms, with memory loss as a side effect. This… this isn’t that.” 

Steve saw Tony glance over at where Bruce and Grima were talking and Bruce was showing Grima something that involved placing patches on Bruce’s temples and pulling up his brain scans. 

“So what is it?” He pressed. 

Tony swallowed and lowered his voice.  
“It’s still targeted, but the targets are all over the place-- they didn’t aim for his muscle memory, procedural memory…. nothing in the back, didn’t want to hit his cerebellum, they didn’t want to impair him. They want him to be useful, but not a person anymore. But he must have had splitting headaches, and the process itself--” Tony shuddered. “There’s a note here that there were no pain killers or muscle relaxants administered. Jesus, they just strapped him down and watched him squirm…” 

Tony tapped, and suddenly they had video. It was rough, grainy looking, at least a couple of decades old. Steve saw the arms swing down, saw the way Bucky’s lips rolled back around the guard they’d shoved between his teeth. Saw the way his body tensed, then arched, then twisted as the power surged through him. 

He heard a strangled noise and looked through the screen, beyond the pictures on it, and saw Grima stand abruptly, saw the way Bruce backed off instantly, his eyes fixed on the reverse image on the other side. 

“I-- excuse me.” Grima choked the words out and was out the doors and running before any of them could do anything about it.

There was a moment of silence, and then Steve swore.  
“J.A.R.V.I.S. terminate everything, Tony, help me find him. He’s not supposed to be here, Fury’s going to have all of us strung up. Bruce-- vamoose.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, spun on his heel, and went through the doors and off in the direction Grima had turned.  
This was not the way he’d expected to spend their day out. 

****

It would have been uncomfortably cramped trying to entertain both Barton and Romanoff in his room. There was only his bed and one chair, and staying in his wheelchair would mean he’d have to continue looking up at whichever of them took the seat on his bed, a prospect that he found unpalatable at best. 

Instead, when Doctor Rivera told them they were free to range, he led them into the communal room where his group meetings took place, not having experienced many other rooms in the house. 

It was fortunately devoid of people this early in the morning, or perhaps though the cooperation of the house staff. 

Lok wheeled himself to sit with between the end of the couch and the coffee table, giving the other two plenty of open seating places that were well within his range of vision. 

“Thank you for coming, Romanoff, Barton.” He spoke calmly but cautiously. 

“I talked to the people on that list.” Barton said abruptly, examining things in the room, looking everywhere but at Loki. His pacing was agitated, and his left hand, the one that generally held his bow, clenched and unclenched, as if missing the weapon. 

Loki bit his lip, then offered a, “I thank you for it.” He paused, waiting to see if Barton would volunteer more information, but when nothing seemed to be coming immediately, he tried again. “Are they-- they have not suffered overmuch due to… they have not suffered, I hope.” 

Barton spun and glared at him, the lines of his face drawn tight. 

“Two of them killed themselves. One checked into a mental institution-- do you know how hard I had to work to convince him he wasn’t actually insane? That I could hear the voices too? That it was over now?” He’d stalked closer, his words gaining in ferocity as he spoke, until he was snarling them less than a foot and a half from Loki’s chair. 

“Clint.” Natasha said, the single word echoing in the sudden silence like an order to stand down.

Loki added those two-- he wished he knew names, but it seemed crass to ask now-- to his mental tally of those he’d killed. The numbers were overwhelming, and he felt the yawning chasm of his own darkness opening up to swallow him again. 

All these lives, all these people, affected, stolen, ruined in his quest to save his own skin. 

“I’m sorry. That you heard… that they did. I wish I knew how to right these wrongs.” His voice came out more brittle than he meant it to, and he knew how dangerous that was in his current company. But part of him didn’t care. What could they do to him? Kill him? At this point, that mightn’t be so bad. 

He’d done what he said he would, didn’t he? Helped the girl, got Grima talking to Rogers. He’d done everything he could. So little, now.

But Clint was speaking, and the least he could do was pay attention. He owed him that much.

“When I started getting the dreams, at first I was glad. It felt like revenge, it felt like it was me taking you apart. It felt like reclaiming who I was. Who I used to be. But you… after a while it disgusted me, made me sick. I wasn’t that imaginative, even I wouldn’t wish that kind of suffering on someone. I went to doctors, I took pills, I drank hoping not to see you when I went to sleep. And after a while it stopped. For me. Not for you, I guess. Why?” He was lost, demanding answers, his pacing falling off and leaving him to stand beside where the Widow perched on the end of the couch. She put her hand on his arm, though whether to control or console, Loki wasn’t sure.

“I can only guess…” He said slowly. “They bound my magic. It severed the connection-- something even I could not do before then. I didn’t know what I was toying with when I used the scepter on you. I discovered when I became open, when we were tied and I couldn’t turn you off.” 

“I don’t hear so great, Loki.” Clint pulled a plastic lump from his ear and held it up. “When I told you my weaknesses, I told you about that. Only take them out at night, if I remember. But that means when I sleep, I hear everything around me like it’s muffled, far off. You, though, every scream, every word, every whimper, you were inside my head.” 

“I am sorry.” Loki said simply. “As I said, that cannot begin to be enough, but if it will help you to hear it, I am.” He felt mired in his guilt, slowly drowning in it, and began to wonder when he had started to care. He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and tried not to.

There was a long moment in which no one spoke, then “Yeah.” The word was gruff, and it held no forgiveness, only acknowledgement. 

It descended into a tense silence that lasted for perhaps a minute, before the quiet was shattered by the arrival of Loki’s usual group. 

Melina froze just inside the door. 

“Romanoff.” The word fell from her mouth like a dead thing, and The Widow stood and turned, immediately on guard. 

“Vostokoff. I see you finally got up the courage to show your face. I hardly recognized you without your mask.” 

Loki had known that Melina harbored ill-will towards Romanoff, but he hadn’t realized the feeling was mutual. But, judging by the icy chill in The Widow’s voice, and the slight accent that had crept into it, this went back a long way. 

Now it was Clint whose touch reminded to other of where they were. 

“And I see you haven’t changed. Still taking orders and groveling before those you were made to be better than.” Melina flicked her eyes from Clint to Loki, her lips drawing thin. 

Loki wanted to bristle, but was too busy putting pieces together. 

Melina would be exactly the person to get on Cynthia’s side, she knew what it was to be denied her life, her childhood. Turned into a weapon. That must be what S.H.I.E.L.D. intended for Cynthia, too. It would take only a small push, and it would be best for that if he distanced himself now from The Widow. 

“There is truth in what she says, Romanoff. You bested me. Regimes fall all the time, you said. Why are you clinging to one that has already sunk beneath your feet once?” 

Melina looked -- if not pleased, at least glad of Loki’s speaking up. His readings of people, it seemed, had not gone as soft as his heart had tried to. 

With that in mind, Loki scanned his eyes over those assembled. Tiboldt he dismissed as useless. The man was a charlatan at best. 

He saw the way Curtis shifted behind Melina to echo Clint’s stance beside Romanoff. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought that perhaps where she went, Curtis may too. 

Marsha he would wager on taking the stance with the girl on behalf of her bleeding heart. 

Tilda, though, was a wild card, difficult to tell, difficult to read. And Ohnn… Loki’s brow furrowed. 

“I’m not here to fight with anyone. We came to visit Loki-- I didn’t realize we’d be seeing you, Melina.” Romanoff had elected to ignore him, probably for the best, and Clint was glaring his way now. 

The situation had grown, if anything, tenser, and he was glad of the staff’s interceding. 

“Agent Romanoff, Agent Barton, a word?” Doctor Rivera, it seemed, was occasionally useful after all.

The second the three of them had stepped out and into the hallway, Loki pretended to try and move forward, then acted as though his wheel was stuck.  
“Marsha? I’m sorry, would you--” He gestured downwards and was glad to see her quickly kneel. He angled his head like he was trying to see, but really he was moving his mouth down near her ear, and hiding the motions of his lips in her hair. He spoke quickly and lowly, trying to hurry along.

“Shh, pretend. I’ve come into some knowledge. NEST has been testing Hydra brainwashing techniques on the children. I am doing what I can on the outside but I need your help protecting Cynthia. Tell the others you can trust.” 

He sat up quickly and thanked her, beginning to roll forward just as his guardians came back into the room. 

Let her tell the others, let them debate if they can trust him. Either way they will be wrong. They will ask Cynthia, eventually, and she will take it to mean he finds them trustworthy. They are, really, all slave to the universal fear for the future. Children are sacred, and what’s more they want reasons to be angry at those who hold them. The chaos he was seeding would be glorious. He was building an army behind Cynthia. He only hoped, when it was time to move, he would be there to help her lead it.

He was careful not to look at Marsha, and he reasoned that everyone would take her concerned face for her worry about the near-miss of a fight. 

But he couldn’t have chosen a better person to tell, because she went straight to Melina, while Loki reclaimed his place with the two visiting Avengers. 

“Shall we relocate?” He asked.

Melina strode out of the room, pulling Curtis along with her, and Loki let his eyes flick over to her, unable to feign surprise. 

Romanoff looked after her, brow creasing, and Loki knew she must be wondering what had changed in her that she would now back down from a lifelong grudge. 

Put that way, Loki was startled to find himself wondering if he would cease his fight for the throne, as little as a few years ago, for a similar cause. Not here, of course-- but if an Aesir child had been endangered, would he? 

He was stricken to find that the answer was likely not. 

That, though, was why he was able to manipulate these people. They were good, and he was not. He never would be, no matter how just his actions, no matter how he tried. Hadn’t the visions of other worlds shown him that, time and again?

“Well, I suppose we don’t need to, now.” That was Clint, as bemused as Romanoff. He shrugged, and his stomach rumbled. “When is lunch around here?” 

Natasha shot him a fondly reproachful look. He spread his hands, and she sighed and shook her head. 

“You needn’t stay.” Loki said, mood darkened by the discovery of how deep his monstrosity ran. “You could go and sup elsewhere, where the food isn’t portion controlled and enriched with minerals to turn it to grit against your teeth.”

Clint’s face shuttered, but even still a myriad of expressions flickered over it. Surprise, confusion, hurt, relief… such an odd little bird, Loki thought. 

“Do you want us to leave?” Romanoff asked, ever blunt. 

“Do you have any reason to wish to stay? You do not like me, you blame me for many things, rightfully so, and Barton, at least, seems to hate that I so much as go on breathing. You have done what you came to, delivered to me news of the still more lives I have claimed in my folly.” He was getting worked up now, intentionally playing it up to start, but the emotion welled beneath his words as he went on. “Thank you, truly, for finding them, for explaining as I cannot. But I do not require your continued presence to remind me of the monster I am, the monster I have always been.”  
He’d raised his voice, and he felt the tears pricking at his eyes. Good. He made a show of only now realizing the scene he was making. Dramatically, he heaved out a breath and drew into himself.  
“I think I would like to be alone now.” The words came out on a carrying whisper, so all listening could hear it. 

Hopefully this little melt down would keep the attendants’ attention away from the other residents, while Marsha began to spread the word of their discovery.  
“We’ll see you back to your room, then, and go.” Romanoff said, gesturing at the nurse nearest them. 

Barton’s mouth was clenched tightly shut, his left hand in a fist, and his jaw set. 

They followed him back to his room, and he let the nurse push him, then close the door behind. 

He rolled up to his bed and considered levering himself into it, but decided the effort was too great. Instead he crossed his arms atop the mattress and lay his head on them, trying to think and plan and instead managing only to berate himself.

He was still there when Grima returned. 

He was pale and shaken looking, and without even thinking he turned himself to face him and opened his arms. 

Grima knelt in front of him and put his head in his lap, finally allowing the shakes to take over him. 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay-- Take your time, you don’t have to tell me what happened right away. Is there anything I can do?” Loki stroked his hair the way he would any sobbing child, and Grima began hyperventilating. 

“They had a video, and I saw it, I heard-- I screamed. Bucky screamed. And I felt it, I remembered… I ran away from them.” 

“Does the Captain know you’re here?” Loki asked, and Grima shook his head no. 

“There’s more though.” He said, sitting up. And from the back of his jacket, he produced the sceptre that Thanos had given Loki to control with, to lead with. 

Kneeling before him, Grima offered it up to Loki, much as the Einherjar had passed him Gungnir during the Odinsleep and Thor’s banishment, so long ago. 

With shaking hands, Loki lifted the weapon, feeling the long lost thrum of magic pouring into him, through his palms and down his arms, filling him out as it went. This, too, was Uru, and soon he found himself able to stand. 

he pushed the chair back, letting it clatter uselessly against the wall, and clutching the sceptre in one hand, he reached down to lift Grima’s chin, turning his face up to him. 

“Why have you brought me this?” He asked, certain they had never discussed the metal, or its ability to draw on magics that lay latent. 

“You should use it. On me. As a test. Unlock Bucky, if you can… so we can find out if you can use it on Cynthia, and give her back her childhood. Give her back who she is.” Grima’s eyes were shining and full of tears, and Loki realized instantly the implications of the request. 

“If I do that, you will never again be trusted, maybe never again be free of me. Our minds will be connected, and no one will believe you act of your own free will.”

“Okay.” He said without hesitation, but Loki frowned and pressed on. 

“The person that you are now may be lost into the memories of who you were. I cannot be sure it will work, because I always used my power to activate it before, and now I must rely on its powers.” 

“I trust you, Loki.” Grima said. 

The door opened and The Captain took in the scene, Loki standing there, Grima kneeling with his head thrown back, offering his chest to him. Loki and the sceptre poised to touch Grima, to bind the two of them together. 

Loki saw The Captain’s eyes widen. 

“Loki! No!” The surprise, the hurt on his face, made Loki's heart ache. Grima struggled to his feet, and Loki knew they were out of time. 

He concentrated hard, gave the two other men a sad smile--

and disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Hiatus! 
> 
> You will not see an update from me for a little bit-- sorry for the cliffhanger (I'm not, really) but the next time you hear back, I will have the entire ending of the story to give you. If you want to follow the progress and get little teases (but no spoilers, I promise!) of what's next for this series, check at [http://mostfacinorous.tumblr.com/tagged/IKNI]
> 
> This chapter is nearly double the length of my usual update, too, which is why it took so long, among other real life related things. Thank you for sticking with me through the wait!
> 
> Also, if you would like to play along, check my blog at [http://mostfacinorous.tumblr.com/post/95335856478/for-those-interested-in-playing-along-with-ikni] -- I put up a puzzle relating to this story, and the first person to solve it gets a 5k fic written by me, to fill a prompt of their choice. Warning: successful solution to the puzzle will result in a teaser/spoiler for the next chapter. Play at your own risk.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to my science advisers, Lily, @Decadent_Hedonism, Sean, and those who didn't want their names attached. You know who you are.


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Lena. Thank you.

Steve sat in the tech department at S.H.I.E.L.D., looking at the blown up and enhanced footage from the cameras in Loki’s room. He rewound it and watched again, hoping against hope that he would spot something he’d missed, or be able to make some sense of what had happened.  
He saw himself enter, saw Grima get up to stop him approaching-- saw them react to Loki’s disappearance. He watched as Grima fell back to his knees and as he came forward to comfort him. 

But what they couldn’t see, what the cameras could, was how Loki hesitated. He’d done something, made them blind to his presence. Watching the screen, he saw Loki’s face contort as he had to step back, out of reach of Grima’s outstretched hand.  
He could see him looking at Grima’s heartache, could see the moment that he couldn’t stand to any more, and how, after he turned his face away, taking in the resignation that Steve exhibited instead was what had really caused his composure to crumple. 

He switched his attention to the next screen, with the footage from the hallway outside of Loki’s door, following his path as he did the same trick to make the staff of NEST unable to see him, and the same to residents he didn’t know. He kept watching until Loki got to the shared common room, and spoke to the residents inside. He couldn’t hear what Loki was saying-- a glitch, they’d told him, maybe from Loki’s tampering, but all of the audio was lost. Loki stroked the keys while he spoke, tapping out some discordant, mindless melody, and as the others began to react, Loki looked straight up and into a camera, suddenly realizing that the cameras would see him. He lifted the staff and sent a bolt of some kind into the lens… and fried not only that camera, but apparently the whole system. 

Steve rubbed his face, propped his elbows on the desk, leaned his chin against his hands, and rewound the tapes again, pausing on the expression on Loki’s face when he saw the expression on Steve’s. 

Once upon a time, Steve thought he’d have liked to see that expression on Loki’s face. During the battle of New York, maybe. Even for a while afterwards. But now… 

He zoomed in and progressed the picture frame by frame. 

Why? 

He wished he could take Grima aside and talk to him, find out what he knew-- how Loki had found out that S.H.I.E.L.D. had the sceptre, how he had convinced Grima to steal it for him. What he had promised. 

But that was half of the problem. 

After the cameras cut out, Steve wasn’t sure what Loki did, whether he’d ensorcelled the other residents or just spoken to them… but they had turned a room of the NEST house into a stronghold. Metal filing cabinets had been turned on their sides and welded together with the metal door ripped from its hinges by Melter and Volcana, under the direction of Nightshade, and then piled over with upturned couches. When Steve had gone to investigate the noise, afraid that Loki was destroying the home, Grima had darted before him and hopped into the fray, grabbing the children and keeping them back from the barricade builders, far from any potential harm. They were all sealed inside the room, away from the doctors. 

Away from him.

That action was enough to tell Steve that he shouldn’t try and advance, even if Chemistro and Iron Woman hadn’t been standing guard at the top of the wall, helping to keep the staff back. This was a group of powerful people dead set on keeping the children away from NEST and S.H.I.E.L.D. alike. And, from what Steve knew, he couldn’t blame them. He had the list of names that were in there-- it included every resident that Loki had interacted with during his stay, and that was no coincidence.

It had been nearly a full 24 hours now with everyone holed up in their safe area… and Steve had to hand it to Nightshade: the area she had picked was the strongest point of defense in the entire building. There had been only one window, which they had covered over with the lid of the piano, driven into the wall with bookends, likely by Curtis and melted into place by Volcana. There were thick, full bookshelves on the walls at their backs, a communal shower above them, with reinforced floors to bear both water and humans a plenty, and a layer of metal pipes between the two as further deterrent to any who might try to attack from above. Plus, if they were smart, they would have good access to clean water there, until NEST realized and shut down that section of the house’s water lines. 

The only person so far able to get in and out was Catseye, a young girl named Sharon whom Steve had never met before. She alone could fit through the small space left uncovered by the piano lid on the window. They had moved a table in front of it, but she was granted free passage, And Steve had called Clint and Natasha to return to NEST to make sure that remained true. She could come out and gather food and other supplies, so that the residents could write down their demands and send them through with her. 

NEST had tried negotiations, but when the residents inside the barricade had realized they weren’t being listened to, they’d simply told The Ringmaster to take over as their spokesperson, and it seemed perhaps his real talent was his inexhaustible trove of pointless stories, because after a day, the NEST staff had backed off and stopped trying to coax them out. 

He’d been called away by Fury, and specifically ordered Rivera, in easy hearing distance of as much of her staff as possible as well as Clint and Natasha, not to make any moves against the resistance until he returned. 

Fury had been, well, surprisingly less angry and more smug. 

“I told you, this is on you. I’m holding you personally responsible for whatever happens here on out. You shoulda let me bury him.” Steve felt like a youngster dragged before a dean.

He had clenched his hands and squared his jaw before responding, “He hasn’t done anything--”

“Yet.” Hill had pointed out, and Steve had gone on as if he didn’t hear her.

“Other than uncover that once again, you’ve been keeping secrets and being morally dodgy. You want to tell me about what’s going on with this Cynthia girl?” 

“You take care of the hell you unleashed, let us deal with the one we’re trying to contain. How’s that sound?” Fury had done his trick of glaring up at him from under his brow, and Steve had glared right back. 

“What’s the plan at NEST?” He’d demanded next, not really willing to let the subject go yet.

“We’re looking into hiding sedatives in their food and water supplies, then moving each of them to isolated rooms until we can build their trust in us back up again.” 

“So you’re going to fight back against them without even knowing what they know or think they know? And you expect any of your people to be able to win their trust after you drug them?” He couldn’t properly express his outrage. “My best friend is in there, buried underneath brainwashing and years of your therapy, which now even I’m questioning. Loki either told them something or did something that caused it, and he’s AWOL.” 

“So what’s your suggestion, Rogers?” Hill asked, and Fury shot her a silencing glare, but it was all the prompting Steve needed. 

“You said this is on me? Good. Let me handle it, my way. I’ll talk to them, I’ll go find Loki, bring him back here, make him talk to them. I’ll convince them to let me try and help-- convince them to trust me. The way they were trying to, before Gr-Barnes got hold of the sceptre and everybody jumped the gun.” 

“You know, psychos trusting you doesn’t make for the greatest argument as to why I should.” Fury pointed out, then sighed and pressed his fingers down on the table.  
“I can’t let them stay in there forever. I can evacuate NEST, relocate those people, make that the priority. That may give you two, three days tops while we get them settled. After that, though, I’ll have people chomping at the bit to rectify this situation, me among them. You got three days to find your lost pet. After that, we do things my way.” 

Steve had known he needed to focus first on finding Loki. He’d promised Asgard that Loki would get justice, and the last thing they needed was an unfriendly incident with their only intergalactic ally.

“Fine.” Steve had gathered his things, ready to leave, then paused. “Nick? I really do need to know what you’re doing to that little girl.” His words, his tone, even his bearings brooked no argument. Maria Hill looked at Nick, clearly not in the loop either-- the most worrying thing so far.

“All you need to know is that MedSci deemed it necessary-- for her safety, and everyone else’s.” Fury turned away, and Steve had felt his anger boiling up. “Worry about Loki, Rogers. We’ll worry about what to do if you can’t find him.”

And that was what had sent Steve back here, to the security tapes, looking for any clue, anything, which might lead him to wherever Loki had fled to. 

He moved the view back to Loki speaking to the residents, hoping to be able to read his lips, but he found his eyes drawn, over and over, to the keys Loki pressed. He was tapping them lightly, light enough that he doubted the recording devices would have picked the sounds up even if there HAD been audio. But he pressed them with a purpose, in an order that didn’t seem random at all. 

Steve isolated that clip and sent it to himself on his phone, then forwarded it to Grima. 

>I know you’ve got a lot on your hands there, but I’m trying to find Loki and see if we can’t get him to help make this right.  
>Does this mean anything to you?

He waited, not sure why he’d thought he would get an answer. 

Sighing, he turned off the computers and pulled his sweatshirt on, fixing his hair as much as he could before heading out. He flipped the light switches and locked the door behind him… and was halfway across the bridge back to the main parking area when his phone dinged in his pocket. 

He’d been absorbed in his thoughts, and the noise and little vibration startled him.  
He nearly dropped it fumbling the phone out of his pocket, but once it was in hand, he held it steady, staring bleary eyed at the screen. 

>It’s words. The keys coincide with letters.  
>He says

There was a long pause, and Steve worried he wouldn’t get the answer, and would have to try and find someone else to figure it out. But then…

>He says he’ll be back. That I should have faith in him. That he’s in a nice dark spot where no one will think to search him out.  
Steve felt like he might cheer, even though the information was somewhat less than helpful. At least he knew Grima was talking to him. 

>That’s amazing, I would never have figured it out. 

True enough, he had no real musical knowledge. He hesitated, then wrote,

>How are you doing? Is there anything I can do or get you? 

He paused, not sure if he should send it. Not sure if he could carry through on any requests while he was chasing down Loki. But Grima was important to him. He’d figure it out.

This time, there really was no response. Steve got home and managed to grab only about three hours’ worth of sleep, before he was up again. He needed to go to Asgard, needed to talk to Thor. Needed to find out if Loki had any usual hiding places… and if Steve and S.H.I.E.L.D. could get to them before the Asgardians decided the people of Earth were too weak, too lenient, and tried to take Loki back. 

He couldn’t let that happen, either. 

He dropped a text to Maria Hill, warning her of impending interaction with Asgard, then looked around central park to be sure no one would be caught in the circle with him. He didn’t know why he always came here, other than because he’d seen Thor and Loki leave from here that first time. Still, it seemed as good a place as any. He tipped his head back and called for Heimdall. 

There was less elation in the rush of lights and air, this time, and when he landed the gatekeeper looked, if possible, even graver. 

Steve didn’t leave right away, but wasn’t sure how to ask…  
“You wish to know what it is I see of Loki.” It wasn’t a question, but Steve felt like he’d miscounted steps, left hanging without something under his foot.

“Yes, please. If you don’t mind.” The words, coming from another man, might have seemed meek. Even coming from him they would have, had he not been on a mission. If he wasn’t Captain America right now. 

Heimdall twitched an eyebrow, but turned his gaze outwards.  
“I do not know where he is, nor can I see him. My eye was turned to Asgardian matters when he disappeared. But he has ever hid in the cracks between the worlds. I would be unsurprised to find him in one such place now.” Steve felt goosebumps rising on his skin and shivered. 

“These spaces in between-- are they dark?” He asked instead, hoping to make some sense of Loki’s message. 

“They can be. Often they exist as tunnels, some long, some short. The deeper ones, perhaps, would leave the traveller in the darkness. Why do you ask?” Steve got the feeling that the Gatekeeper’s curiosity was not piqued often.

“Just something Loki wrote. In a sort of code, he talked about finding a dark spot where no one would find him.” 

“Perhaps he needs such a place for his magic workings.” Heimdall suggested, sounding no more satisfied with the answer than Steve felt. 

“It just bothers me that he’s seeking out the darkness after spending so long there, being tortured.” Steve tried his ground with the Guardian, curious to how his sympathies fell with Loki. 

Heimdall shrugged, the motion controlled and impressive on his frame.  
“You might seek permission to ask Cul. If any know Loki, if any can lend insight, it may be his uncle.” 

“Thanks-- I will.” He searched his memory, trying to think if Loki had ever mentioned anyone called Cul, but he couldn’t remember. It was disconcerting, not knowing so much as he thought he did. Loki may have told him his life story, but of course it was abridged to only the most horrific of his moments. Any happiness he’d ever had… Steve didn’t know a thing about it. 

He waved in parting and began the walk up towards the hall, his mind whirling. 

What he knew of Loki, he liked. But all he knew was suffering, pain, and sadness. Had Loki been happy when invading? Did Steve not like Loki when he felt joy? It was a troubling thought, and worse, made him wonder if he was more miserable than he’d thought he was. Misery loves company, after all. 

He let his mind go down that path only for as long as his feet carried him forwards. When he reached the steps at the start of the hall, he shook himself from those depressing musings, and began to climb, shifting his attention instead to what he knew of Asgardian formality, and hoping against hope that the problem of Loki’s whereabouts was not about to be ripped away from him.

Steve was not surprised when it was Sigyn who met him at the doors of Odin’s Hall. 

“Is it Loki?” She asked quickly, and he only managed a nod before she began leading him toward the throne room, where it seemed the Alfather was addressing applicants for the palace guards. 

The moment Thor spotted him his eyes had raked over the worries that must have been clearly written on Steve’s face. He held a hand up for silence, turned to his father, and spoke softly to him. 

Odin stood.  
“I am dismissing all of you for now. Speak to Sigyn, she will assign you rooms to recover from your travels, and you will dine with the court tonight. The remainder of our interviews will be held anon.”

There was a small wave of grumbling, and more than a few furtive glances in Steve’s direction, but none seemed brave enough to speak to him or challenge Odin’s words. 

Soon the entire place was emptied out, save for himself, Odin, and Thor. 

“I fear you have come to us in duress, Captain Rogers. Please, sit, speak of what troubles you.” 

“Loki?” Thor prompted, and Steve sighed and began to tell them.  
They listened, politely not interrupting, though it was obvious that at times they were surprised by what he had to say, primarily when it came to Loki’s recovery and Loki’s care for Grima.

When he finished, there was a long stretch of silence between them, and Odin looked thoughtful. Finally, he spoke.

“Thor, take your friends and a small group of Einherjar, go to Idunn, and guard the fruit. If Loki is loose and with power, the first thing he seeks may well be to reclaim the years he sees as owed him.” From what Steve knew of these people, the order made sense. Any good leader’s first thought should be for defense. But Steve felt a twinge, too-- even if this was the man who had tortured Loki, punished him and imprisoned him, the fact that there was no emotional reaction to the news that the man he’d called son was freed… it didn’t sit right. None of this did.

“Father, let our friends go. Better that you and I not be separated.” Thor looked grim again, and Steve was angry at Loki for making him be the one to bring the news to his family. He was tired of hating them for what they’d done, while simultaneously wanting to side with them for the hurts they’d borne.

“Do you really think it likely Loki will find another so keen to take us in trade for the power he wants so soon after his release? Especially now that all of the worlds have no doubt heard of our triumph over Thanos.” Odin sounded like he was taunting Thor for being so foolish, but it seemed to cover a hurt. Steve found himself almost physically recoiling as the words sank in.

“Another?” Steve spluttered, gobsmacked, before Thor could even begin to formulate a response. 

“I had thought you knew-- did Loki leave that part of his tale out? Where he tried to trade my father and I to Thanos? I know not what he sought in exchange, only that when he summoned us, he knelt already before his master.”

“He was kneeling because he’d been tortured, was being tortured! He didn’t try to summon you, he tried to send himself back to you-- to kill him. He wanted you to put him out of his misery.”

Thor scoffed.  
“And you believe such a story? Loki has ever put himself first. When we arrived, he knelt before Thanos. He was whole and unharmed, and upon seeing us, he turned away.” 

“He turned away because he didn’t want you there! His magic brought him what he thought of as safety. He was tortured and healed only to be tortured again.” Steve couldn’t believe this was really a conversation they were having. 

“Thanos created orphans so that he could build them into his own family, his own army. We learned from the Lady Gamora that Thanos enjoyed making his ‘children’ watch as he killed their parents before he adopted them. How do we know that Loki did not summon us for just such a purpose?” Odin asked, voice wise and logical, but his words pointed. “He renounced us, attempted to sell our lives for his advancement. You are a good man Captain Rogers, you would not have been able to help him otherwise, but you must remember that he has never been good, and the words he says are untruths more often than not.”

“When you were brought before Thanos, what happened?” Steve asked, aware that there was a gap in his knowledge here, but mulishly refusing to believe that Loki had just been playing him. He remembered the way he had looked, the panic attacks-- no matter how good of an actor you are, you can’t fake that kind of trauma. 

“My father acted before anyone else could, and raised a shield around the two of us. This enraged Thanos, and he began to have Loki flayed.” Thor spoke with an air of justified satisfaction, and Steve had to remind himself that theirs was a far more vicious race, their idea of justice more savage. It didn’t help. 

“If they really had summoned you, don’t you think they would have been ready? So you wouldn’t have had time to defend yourselves?” Steve asked. 

Odin looked thoughtful, but Thor shook his head.  
“My father has always been faster than most realize.” He sounded proud, but there was a question there, too… a doubt about what he was saying.

“You think they wanted to have Loki watch you die, but I think it was supposed to be the other way around. And you did, didn’t you? You watched behind that shield for a while before you did anything.” Steve was trying not to be angry, not to let his disgust show, but it wasn’t working. He appealed, one final time, to their humanity.  
“Loki told me that he held out as long as he could. He’d only been on Jotunheim for a couple of days when they got him. The rest of the time he’d been gone before you saw him, he’d been under extreme duress-- torture, healing, abuse. And when he couldn’t take it any more, when he snapped, hoping you’d kill him and end it, you watched. His magic thought of you as safety, as his emergency help. And you did nothing-- worse than nothing. You punished him for it. Took him from one torture and started on another. I have bad news for you, Your Majesties-- if there was any betrayal that day, it was yours.” He knew he spoke hotly, but he still didn’t expect Thor to stand, to rush at him. 

He stood quickly, trying to brace for impact, but Thor dodged around him and exited the hall in a hurry.  
Steve took a few steps after him, then hesitated, looking to Odin for advice. 

“Let him go. Loki is not the only of my sons still with growing to do.” 

Steve’s eyes narrowed.  
“Is Loki really still your son? After everything you did to him-- while you were having men carve his back into ribbons, sewing his mouth shut, burying your spear in his side, was he your son then?”

“He was. He is. All of their lives, I have taught my boys through lessons. Children learn through experience. But they are grown now, their lessons must weigh heavier.”

“And what kind of lesson could you possibly hope to teach by leaving him scarred for the rest of his life?” Steve hadn’t realized he was stalking forward, but there he stood, almost lording over the King of Asgard. He took a deep breath and a step backwards. 

“Has Loki told you of what he is?” Odin asked, unruffled. The calm only made Steve angrier. It felt as if Odin thought he was giving one of his lessons now.

“He did. And I saw for a moment, I think.” He remembered Loki with the Uru, before he’d returned it. He’d gone blue all over, darker lines engraved into him, like a tattooed man Steve had seen once at a fair, but his eyes-- they had gone so red. And so scared. 

“Loki was raised in a time after we had just defeated an army of Frost Giants. No matter how we tried, he grew to think of them as monsters. And when he learned he was one…” The Alfather trailed off. 

“So you thought you’d teach him that he wasn’t a monster by carving something he equated with monsters into his skin?” He felt like he was seeing Bucky’s files for the first time, all over again, that same lurching churning sickness in his stomach. He didn’t bother keeping his disgust out of his voice, didn’t even try not to sound like he was accusing the King.

“I was teaching him that no matter how he tries to hide, from the world, from himself, using an Asgardian guise, he will always be a Jotunn underneath!” Odin was yelling back, now, but Steve wouldn’t back down. Couldn’t. It was too twisted. 

“You think he didn’t know already? You think he doesn’t spend every day of his life hating himself for what he is? For how that’s shaped who he is? Reminding himself of that? All you did was take away the only safety he has ever known, take his home, take his control over his own body, and destroy them as thoroughly as the Chitauri and Thanos destroyed his mind!” He stopped his tirade short, reminding himself who he was talking to. “Excuse me, Your Majesty. I’m going to check on Thor, and then I’m going to go find the man who you taught to hate, and see if I can’t undo some of that. Heimdall said I should ask your permission to visit Cul-- will you permit me that much?” 

Odin sat in his throne, still and shocked at having been spoken to in such a way. Slowly he came out of it, and just as Steve was about to write it off and leave, he spoke, the words surprisingly calm and thoughtful.

“If you can convince Thor to go with you, you have my blessing, Captain. But do not bring my lost son back here. Asgard should not have taken him in to start with, Asgard will not take him back.” The old man looked old suddenly, all the hot air gone out of him and his fight deflated with it, but there was an air of finality to his statement that made Steve’s jaw clench.

“Trust me, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it.” Steve bowed and made his way out of the room, hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to dissipate some of the aggression that had built up throughout the conversation.

He’d been somewhat worried about being able to find Thor, but he hadn’t made it far. 

The god of thunder was on his knees in his father’s castle, his head in a potted plant, his stomach heaving. And as much as Steve hated being the person to do that to him, he felt a wave of hope from it. 

“Never have I failed someone so thoroughly as I have Loki.” Thor said, his words more mournful than Steve had ever heard him before. “Not even the mother I could not save.”

“Loki isn’t dead. It’s not too late to help him.” Steve pointed out, kneeling beside him to put a hand on his back. He remembered what Loki had said about how he was responsible for their mother’s death, but now was probably not the best time to bring that up. Not to mention, with Loki, it was hard to say how much of that guilt was deserved. He tended to accept responsibility for things he hadn’t actually done, as well as some that he had, while turning a blind eye to others. It made it hard to tell exactly how much of a bad guy he was. Still was. Had been. But right now… right now the important part was finding him. Steve would deal with the rest when he got to it.  
“Thor, you’re my friend. And over time, Loki has… well, I came to care for him, too. Help me find him, help me try and make this right.”

“Nothing that I do may ever make this right again.” Thor told him, looking up with tear filled eyes.  
“But not doing anything at all only makes it more wrong.” Steve pointed out. “Please Thor, Heimdall said I should ask to be taken to speak with Cul. Odin said if you could be convinced…” But he saw how Thor recoiled. “What is it?” 

“Cul, my uncle… Loki was ever compared to him as a child. It was the most hurtful thing any man could say to him. Cul was a traitor, the god of fear who became obsessed with power, obsessed with ruling. He was treacherous, treasonous…” Thor trailed off, and Steve inhaled sharply. 

“And Loki hates making liars out of people that aren’t him.” It hurt, seeing how long the destructive streak had been a part of Loki. Almost from birth, it seemed. And it had been allowed to fester for centuries. 

“When Loki took my father’s place on the throne, he put the true Odin in the cage that he had imprisoned his brother in. He gave him to Cul, I think expecting that Cul might kill him.” Thor’s face twisted, and Steve was sure he was drawing the lines, finding the parallels between his father and his brother and he and Loki.

“But he didn’t.” Steve prompted. 

“I expect that is why Heimdall urges you to speak with him.” Thor’s distaste was plain, but also his respect for the gatekeeper. Steve knew he wouldn’t have to ask again. Thor had already made up his mind.  
“I will go with you. Give me but a short time to gather supplies, and we will go to Cul, and from there, on to find Loki. We will…” he swallowed thickly, voice going heavy with guilt. “We will help my brother.” 

Steve thought his grin might split his face in half. Suddenly, he had hope for this whole foolish enterprise.  
***  
Alone and able to concentrate inwardly, Loki set to learning the intricacies of this new type of magic. 

He let it flow through him, filling gaps that hadn’t been there the last time he’d wielded the sceptre. Before, his own power had served as a partial barrier, keeping it from coiling through him, but now the green of his power was drained to the tiniest of dregs, and the blue filled his veins. 

It pulled at him oddly, like ill fitting clothing. Where his seidhr tasted of Asgardian Autumn nights, crisp and filled with life, this was something sharper. Something cleaner, not colder, per se, but… more sterile. 

It worked through him, waking him up in a way he’d never felt before, twisting and churning and mending his ills, as magic returned to any magic user would, but pulling at his mind, expanding it. If the torture he’d faced had splintered his mind, this potent force was filling in the cracks and developing outwards. It wasn’t painful, or physical. But for the briefest of moments, he thought he might think as Heimdall sees. For seconds that dragged on indefinitely, he understood too much. And distantly, the thought occurred: This is going to consume me.

And then, like elastic, it encountered the core shining green of his being and snapped back, ceasing its advance and falling into a restful stillness throughout him. It was tranquil, this energy, and he felt refilled by it, but he knew that the moment the sceptre was removed from him, it would only be a matter of time before he was drained, possibly more damagingly than the state he’d been left in before. 

There was a danger to it, this overabundance of power. If he lost it-- when he lost it-- 

But it didn’t bear thinking on that now. Now, he had to learn it, learn its limitations. But Grima had been right. He needed someone to try this all on. But he didn’t think he could do that to him. Not to Grima. He worried his lip, then reached out to the master of this pocket universe, the man who currently hosted him.

“Doctor Ohnn?” He spoke aloud, and though his voice was hesitant, he was certain that only the man he was tucked into could hear him.  
“Loki?” Came the immediate nonverbal response. A convenient side effect of having crawled into his face while clutching the infinity stone of mind was that Loki could communicate without ever needing to risk capture.  
“May I look through your eyes, just for a moment?” He asked. Another of those happy accidents of circumstance. Loki had assured Spot that he would do nothing without first obtaining permission, and Loki knew that he would not so much as ask to go through memories. He wouldn’t be responsible for harming another in the way he had Barton, or the way that HYDRA had Grima. 

“...Yeah. Alright.” Ohnn responded, and before he could address the hesitance, Loki felt like his entire being was blinking, and then suddenly light crashed into his consciousness.  
He looked out and into the inside of the safe area that they had made for themselves. 

He was not at all sure how long it might last, but it seemed to be holding and relatively calm for the time being. 

Grima sat off to the side, but where Loki had been afraid he might have withdrawn, he was with Sharon, helping to plait her hair into a long neat row. True, though, he wasn’t talking, and they were as far removed from the others as their cramped quarters would allow, so it seemed likely that Sharon had shown up and all but crawled into his lap, demanding his attention and ensuring that he was not alone.  
Loki made a mental note to thank her later, if he ever got the chance. 

Sitting in the empty space in the middle of the room where the couches used to be, Martha and Chris were practicing by melting what remained of the TV with their powers, Martha assumedly aiding Chris in understanding his better. Someone had helpfully placed a fire extinguisher beside them, and from the ceiling, a slow leak had begun filling a bucket of water. Further away, Melina was running Cynthia through some basic self defense strategies, correcting stances and helping to get her in a better shape to fight off anybody who might try and get her back into that chair. It seemed a good match, the two of them, much like Martha and Chris. 

Ohnn himself was seated with his back to the barricade, a book in hand that had been dumped off the shelves that now made part of his backrest. Above him, peering out between the roof and the wall they had built, were Curtis and Tilda, their attentions focused on searching for any weak places, in the hope of finding them before NEST and SHIELD did, as well as trying to tell what it was they were waiting for. Maynard hovered behind them, posturing and mainly being ignored. 

“They’re evacuating all of the other residents.” Ohnn supplied helpfully for Loki. “I think they’re treating us like a bomb waiting to go off-- get everyone else out before they touch anything.”

“Not a bad idea, though if things get bad before I’m ready, I hope you’ll let me know so I can at least do my part.” Loki said, words echoing in the blackness he was submerged in. 

“We’re alright for now, but I don’t know how much longer they’ll stick to Captain America’s orders. He hasn’t been here for a while, and Sharon’s going to have to go out and find some more food for us soon.” 

“Have you been having Grima or Melina check the rations? I think they’re probably the best suited for such things.” Loki asked, already withdrawing slightly from the view. 

“We have. Nothing yet.” Spot assured him. “You seem to have a little time, compliments of your friend the Captain. Use it wisely.” 

“I am trying.” Loki said, willing as much honesty into his voice as he could muster. 

Ohnn hummed and Loki felt the disconnect as he slunk back into his own body, his own mind. He opened his eyes to see the blue glow coming off of him, only to be swallowed by the pin spots of the various exits from the void. 

Ohnn had explained his private dimension as a sort of corridor, and everywhere within it had the potential to be another spot, another portal. Loki had found a safe place and seated himself on the nothing there, then taken the magic into him.  
At the moment, he gave off a slight glow of shivering blue light. But unlike any other place, the light was not confined to around him. The spots tugged at it, played with it, sucking it in and bending the glow, so that it swirled outwards from him like the eddies of a playful river. And he sat in the center, still and afraid to move, lest he be lost and all of his efforts in this magic be for naught.

He dedicated himself to the magic, using it to draw up memories he had tried to suppress, memories made while he was on the verge of blacking out from pain, from horror, from exhaustion. Memories of a cold before he could remember, memories through the red of his eyes as a babe on Jotunheim’s teat.

But there was no good memory that he did not have easy access to, nothing to break up the blackness with.

It left him wrecked, shaking and sick, terrified and unable to call out for help, though he knew Ohnn would be little enough help even if he could. So his day went, distressed and alone in the darkness, forcing himself to repeat the process as soon as possible. It was like doing surgery, cutting into his own flesh until the pain was too great, letting it subside, and starting anew. 

It was during one of his panics, one of his convulsive shaking attacks, that a sudden sharp noise cut through his suffering.

It took a moment for him to register it being the phone. His Stark phone. he managed to pull it out of his pocket and held it cupped in his hands, staring down at the screen with the word ‘Grima’ emblazoned across it in tiny glowing pixels. He felt numb, lost, like he had just awakened in a different room than the one he’d fallen asleep in. 

“You gonna answer that?” Ohnn’s non-voice asked, and Loki shook himself out of his stupor. 

“May I use your eyes?” Loki asked in return, silencing the phone with a flick of his thumb, and Ohnn opened up for Loki, despite it being, by now, the middle of the night. 

It was, of course, dark, and everyone in the barricaded area was asleep, curled up in small groups, the children together, Melina nearby. Tilda sat guard at the lip of the barricade’s top. The rest of them were only shapes, here and there, scattered through the room. 

Save Grima, who slept beneath the tiny opening where the piano lid didn’t cover the whole window, his hair lit by the sparse ray of moonlight that came in, his face lit by the blue glow of his phone. He stared down at the screen for a long moment, then turned it off and curled around it, facing the wall. Loki could make out the tech clenched between his hands the way a child would a doll.

Ohnn closed his eyes, tossing Loki back into his mind. 

“Frankly I’m surprised you get reception in there. But you should talk to him. Won’t you need him, sooner or later?” 

“I think I will, but I hate that I will. In using the sceptre on him, in asking me to do so, he is asking me to do the reverse but equal of what was done him in the first place. He is only just regaining his personhood now. If I go into his mind, tinker with his memories… if I hurt him in the process…” Loki trailed off, voice cracking and glad that Ohnn could not turn his gaze inwards. “I try so hard not to be the monster I am, but I slip. And I don’t want him to suffer for it. I don’t want anyone here to suffer for my monstrosity. They all deserve so much more.” 

Already weakened by his tests on himself, Loki felt the control he had over his tears beginning to crumble. As they slid down his cheeks, Ohnn’s silence seemed condemning. Disapproving. The lack of sound other than his own pitiful noises threatened to deafen him, to suffocate him. 

And then a small series of texts came in. 

>Not angry.  
>i’m scared.  
>Don’t leave me here. Don’t run away from me. You have power now. You’re strong. You can do the right thing.  
>I need you. 

He stared down at the device. Having power didn’t make him strong. Being immortal did not promise him a long life. His doing right only ever caused harm, and once again Loki was shackled, this time by what he must do. An unsatisfying substitute to his own seidhr flowed around and in him, and he could not stand the guilt that seemed to settle over him like a blanket. When had he started to care?

Being needed did not make him good, and he had to remind himself of that fact. Nothing that he did would ultimately make him any better. These motions that he went through were only to make believe, a balm to the cracks in his skin where the evil lurked beneath, waiting to seep through. 

At least here, alone in the darkness, there was none to see if they did. He used to so revel in this feeling. He just wished he could go back to that, back to when his hurts were limited to a choice few deep pangs, not this shroud of constant misery and heartache.

Echoing Grima’s position outside, Loki closed his hands around the phone, curled in on himself, and let the shakes and his sobs carry him off to sleep.  
***

It turned out that Cul had been locked in a box at the deepest part of the Marianas trench, in the Pacific Ocean back on Earth. Steve had Heimdall put them down outside of Sam’s apartment, because there was no way he was going into this with just an emotionally rocky Thor as back up, and of everyone he knew, Sam was the best at keeping a clear head while helping friends who were… not the most grounded, at the moment. 

Besides, he was under the impression that once they had reached roughly the area they needed to dive at, Thor was planning on doing some sort of biblical water parting thing with some whistle or flute or something-- a gift from Odin for this specific purpose--and Steve needed to have someone there to bear witness and mutter the things he was thinking under their breath.

Sam, of course, became the ideal person to take along for the ride. 

He wouldn’t even have needed the texts that Steve had sent him from outside the building, warning about the current state of Asgardian affairs. All he would have needed was one look, and he would have known something was up.  
Steve couldn’t decide if it was more important to not talk about it, or to address the awkwardness, but as usual, Sam had the answer. 

“Thor!” He said, offering his hand. “Been a while, buddy. You’re not looking so hot, but we’re gonna help find him, alright?” He doesn’t force joviality into the statement, the way some might. Sam’s just stating facts, and Steve can see the relief in Thor’s face when he takes the proffered grip. 

“I have missed you as well. I-- before we begin, though, I should-- Jane--” He looked extraordinarily awkward, in a way that seemed at once regretful and apologetic as well as eager. 

“No, for sure, go take care of it. Don’t want you in trouble with the lady.” Sam shot Steve a glance, and Steve wondered how he knew-- just knew that Steve had been about to object. “It’s good to keep the people who care about you happy.” Sam finished, with just enough hint of warning that Steve felt a little guilty. 

Thor bowed out, grateful for the understanding, and with a toss of his hammer and a brisk wind, he was gone. 

With that, Sam turned to him.  
“You can afford to lose an hour or two while he tries to sort out how shitty he feels. Meanwhile, you and me have some catching up to do, and you’re gonna tell me why in the hell you and Loki sound like you’re pals now.” Sam’s words and tone had no room for argument, but instead of bristling, Steve felt his face splitting into a smile.  
He grabbed Sam around the shoulders. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He told him. 

Sam completed the hug, then pulled them apart.  
“I know you’ve got your big bad Captain America duties, but you know where I live. Come on inside, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

Settled comfortably in Sam’s livingroom, Steve got to work mending hurt feelings. 

“I haven’t been around much,” he started, and Sam just snorted. “Well, but look, it’s because I’ve been pulling double duty-- Captain America work and then I was under instructions to spend every non Cap minute at the NEST facility.” He spread his hands. 

“So your orders were to run yourself ragged. Good folks, S.H.I.E.L.D.” Sam said, and Steve shrugged. 

“They’re better than they used to be.” Steve shrugged noncommittally.  
“So NEST. What is that, exactly? I know you said that’s where Bucky ended up.” 

“Nursing Establishment for Stability and Therapy. It’s a… it’s to help rehabilitate villains, basically, help them get their lives on the right track.” Steve found himself twisting his own fingers. “And while he was there, Loki… got through to Bucky, in a way no one else has been able to. Helped him come out of his shell, helped him… he got him to start talking to me.” The raw emotion in Steve’s voice would have made him self conscious if it had been exposed to anyone but Sam. He knew, though, that if anyone was ready for it, if anyone wouldn’t judge him for it, it would be him. 

Sam whistled lowly.  
“And now he’s gone, is Bucky…?” He trailed off, and Steve shook his head. 

“It’s Grima, first of all. Means shadow, apparently. I’m still hoping that wasn’t just a tasteless joke on Loki’s part. But… the head therapist there, she was worried they were getting too close, so I took Grima out for a day.” He paused and tried to sort the events out in his mind.

“Too close how? Did she think he was manipulating him?” Sam asked, leaning forward, suddenly alert. Steve wondered if that was something he had seen before. He nodded.

“Among other things. Problem is, it was Grima who stole the scepter… I’ve only managed to get a couple of texts out of him since Loki disappeared, but… the two of them uncovered some kind of… it’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. coverup of some sort. They’re almost certain NEST has been using HYDRA mind wiping techniques-- the same ones used on Bucky-- on a little girl. We were trying to figure out why when Grima ran off with the scepter. When Loki up and vanished, he told everyone inside NEST about Cynthia and what the doctors were doing to her, and all the residents-- the ones who know this girl-- have barricaded themselves into a room to protect her. By my count, I only have the rest of today and tomorrow to find Loki, before Fury takes things into his own hands.” Steve explained, the weight of his own responsibility sinking further on to him as the words spilled forth. 

“And to your mind, Loki’s the key to the bottom of all this?” Sam asked. “Why not focus on Buc-- on Grima, if they were so close? I mean, how’d he even know where the scepter was?”

Steve shook his head miserably.  
“Right now, I have to focus on Loki. That’s what Fury assigned me to. And if I can’t get him to help set things right back at NEST, well… the problem of the barricade is not supposed to be in my hands, but I can’t just do nothing.”

Sam shook his head.  
“Alright. Ok, well, what’s your plan then?” 

“Loki’s got this evil uncle, locked up in a cage at the bottom of the sea. Heimdall, the all seeing gatekeeper of Asgard, thinks we should talk to him. He says if anyone knows Loki, it’s him.” Steve braced himself, because he knew what came next was an explanation of what an appallingly bad idea that was. 

But instead, Sam just nodded thoughtfully.  
“Makes sense to me.”

“Really?” He asked, thoroughly surprised. 

“Yeah, I mean. We got a bad guy to chase down, you talk to someone who can think like him to figure out where he is. What about the all seeing guy, though-- I take it you asked him about where Loki’s hiding?” 

“Yeah.” Steve made a face. “Magic. He had nothing for us.” 

“So Loki has his magic back, then?” Steve could see Sam calculating in his mind. 

“We don’t know. We have no idea at this point what he’s capable of, except that he can walk again and he’s got the scepter, which is both a magical item and a weapon. Odin seemed to think Loki would be going after the tree that grants Asgardians their long lives? I don’t know.” Steve grabbed some goldfish off of the table and popped them in his mouth, trying not to look as concerned about all of this as he was. 

Judging by the look on Sam’s face, he wasn’t buying it. 

“So what’s going on with Thor?” He asked, instead of pushing the conversation about Steve. 

“He… things are about as not good as they can get, between him and Loki. There’s been betrayal on both sides, and a misunderstanding on Thor’s part sort of led to Loki being… tortured and exiled. He just found out about that.” Steve couldn’t think of any way to soften that-- he was still more than a little horrified that that was how things worked, where they came from. 

Sam rubbed the back of his head in consternation.  
“Alright, so we have some self loathing going on all around. You know after all of this, you might consider sitting down for some group therapy. Just a thought.” his mouth tugged upwards at the corner, though, softening the suggestion. 

Not a bad one, Steve thought. 

Outside, the potted plant on Sam’s railing fell from a gust of wind. Steve nodded towards it. 

“Think that means the big guy’s back.” 

“Man, my mom sent me that plant. First one I’ve managed to keep alive for more than a month.” Sam groused, rising from his seat. 

“You know she loves when they die-- it means she gets to come over, replace it, and bake for you.” Steve told him, amused. 

He was glad he’d called on Sam, glad Sam had the time and was willing to do this with him. Something about him just made the terrifying seem that much less so. 

Even the trip out to the middle of the ocean seemed to pass in a few short blinks. By the time they had reached their destination, determined by Thor through means that Steve could not begin to fathom, Thor had regained some of his own jubilance. And perhaps it was because of a regained sense of purpose, because Sam had helped to make him hope… it didn’t matter what had brought it about. What mattered was that it felt, for the first time in a while, like Steve was surrounded by family. 

Not, of course, that Bruce and Natasha and Clint and Tony and Pepper weren’t, but he’d spent so much time at NEST, so much time with his shield up and his defenses on high alert, he’d forgotten what it meant to be around people he could trust. People he could fall back on and turn his back to without a second thought. 

He was surprised to find that his feelings about Thor and his actions didn’t diminish his trust in the man. Surprisingly, he thought they were probably okay… provided, of course, that he really meant what he said, that he really intended to try and set things right with Loki. And what a change in his thinking that was from a few short years ago. 

Steve watched while Thor played the instrument that Odin had passed him, causing the water to pull away from a hole which led down to the darkness of the deepest parts of the ocean. 

They lowered the ropes and slid down onto it, and Steve became aware of the dark shape of whatever leviathan had been employed in protecting the entrance swimming around them in lazy circles. The slide was long, but ended at a round door set into the sand emblazoned with some kind of sea dragon, folded into a triknot. Thor pressed his hammer to the metal and they passed through, stumbling as they landed in the cavernous cell. 

Water puddled around them, and Steve found himself squinting in the dim purple tinged light. The ceiling of the room was high and domed, the walls round and carved from stone, runes and probably spellwork etched into every surface. He shivered, suddenly concerned about being trapped in here with the kind of man who would require such strong precautions from even Asgard. 

From the shadows, he limped forward, the light turning his bone pale hair into something spectral, something unworldly and casting shadows on his face that looked like they were as deep as the trench they’d slid down into. 

“Son of Odin.” The old man said, his voice like the sound of rocks ground together with great pressure. Then his head swivelled.  
“And who are you?” 

Being caught in his gaze felt like being pinned down, seeing a train heading straight for you and unable to move. It wasn’t fear, or not just fear. It was debilitating terror, something that swept through the whole of your being, and Steve wasn’t ready for it. 

“My friends.” Thor spoke, and though it was a soft sound for him, in this small room with high ceilings, it echoed, until he sounded like the thunder that often followed in his wake. 

Cul seemed unsurprised and unphased by the rudeness. He simply leaned and waited, looking, oddly enough, directly at Steve for answers. 

“We’re-- I’m a friend of Loki’s.” He started, speaking formally and using his commanding voice. 

“Are you now? Fancy that.” Cul drawled, and Steve wasn’t sure why, but he could feel the heat climbing the back of his neck. But it did the trick-- the anger helped pull him out of the fear that had been threatening to bog him down. He cleared his throat.

“He’s gone missing, and we’re trying to find him. Heimdall thought you may have some idea of where I might look.” He ignored the surprise that registered on Cul’s face and charged on ahead, skipping any niceties. He was ready to be done with this. This guy was something he didn’t like, something darker than Loki, and far more threatening. 

A rumbling sound emerged from his chest, terrifying and unhealthy, and at first Steve thought he was dying, exchanging a panicked look with Sam before he realized that it was Cul laughing.  
“Have you considered checking Hel?” He asked, and Thor snarled, Sam’s reflexes the only thing preventing Cul’s face from being pulverized by the force of Mjolnir. Cul went right on talking, though. “If he isn’t there yet, he’ll surely end up there soon. All alone in the worlds, poor lost child.” He was grinning maliciously and Steve felt a shiver of fear sketch down his spine.

“Steve? I don’t think he’s gonna have anything worth listening to. Let’s get out of here.” Sam was already trying to tug Thor back towards the center of the room, directly under where they’d come in. Steve turned and began to walk away to join his friends.

“Steven Rogers.” Cul rumbled out and he stopped in his tracks, turning back to face the man, confused as to how he knew whom he was. “That is who you are is it not?”

“It is.” He responded, turning back and waiting, the effort taking all of his control. 

“Loki spoke of you, last time I saw him.” He spoke slowly, like a man who had all the time in the world. And, Steve supposed, that was because he did. Steve, on the other hand, didn’t. 

“When was that?” He asked, daring to hope. 

“Difficult to say.” Cul responded. “Years, most likely.”

Steve made an annoyed noise in his throat and turned away again. 

“He called you his opposite.” Cul told his retreating back. “He wished, for Thor’s sake, that he had been you.”  
Steve was listening, his eyes wide. He felt oddly flattered, though he knew much had changed since then, for he and Loki both.

“I’d advise you not to help my nephew, Steven Rogers. It will only end in sorrow for you.” 

“We are leaving.” Thor said, his lips tight and his face clouded with a complex mixture of guilt and anger. He held his arm out and both Sam and Steve took hold of him as the young god of Thunder spun his hammer above his head and hurled the three of them forth, up out of the trench and into the air, while the water tossed beneath them, as violent as Thor’s rage. 

They gripped at the ropes and hauled themselves back into the helicopter they had commissioned to fly them out. The flight back was quiet, none of them seemingly ready to shout over the sounds of the propeller. 

Thor fell asleep, and Sam and Steve pulled out some cards, though neither was really at the top of their game just at the moment. 

Once they were landed, though, the conversation was immediate. 

“We know no more now than we did upon leaving Asgard!” Thor put voice to Steve’s own impatience with today’s adventure. Sam, however, looked thoughtful. 

“I dunno… is Hell a legit place for you guys? Like us, we don’t know so much as think, but if you exist, I figure that might too.” 

“Aye, Hel is the realm of the underworld on Niflheim. But we have treaties with the Mistress there-- she would not give him quarter, and would know and alert us if he travelled there in his physical form.” 

“I doubt he’s dead, it’s only been a couple of days.” Steve interjected, though there was enough doubt… Cul was all about fear, wasn’t he? So was that just him putting voice to their fears? Or did he know something they didn’t?

“If he were, he would have gone straight to Eljudni, Hela’s hall, and she being polite or gloating-- it is difficult to tell-- would have sent her condolences to my family. He is not dead.” Thor seemed certain enough of that to put Steve’s fears to rest, and he nodded. 

“Here’s my question, then: You have this all seeing gatekeeper who sent you there-- you think he had a reason? Is there something we missed?” He could tell Sam was no more eager to go back than he was. It was so hard to think around Cul, like all of his thoughts had just become one loud shriek. 

“When my brother imprisoned my father with Cul, during the time he was ruling Asgard in his guise, he thought he was granting Cul the opportunity to avenge himself on his brother. He expected that as soon as he left them there, Odin should be as good as dead. There is a parallel, you see. Loki was called many unkind things as we grew, but the fact that his coloration next to mine was reminiscent of Cul’s to my father’s…” Thor let the sentence trail outwards.

“So he figured because Cul was like him, and he wanted to kill you…” Sam asked, obviously confused by the relationships being handled here. 

“It turned out the opposite. He has had opportunities, has tried to kill me. When I brought Odin back, he knew that it was true-- they were alike. Neither of them could ever truly kill the brothers that they hated, the brothers whom they also love. Loved.” He corrected, the guilt clearly manifesting again.

“Huh.” Sam looked unconvinced, and Steve tried to imagine what that must be like from Loki’s side, realizing that he couldn’t actually hurt the person he’d been trying to hurt, realizing he didn’t actually want to. And then being tossed out, then tortured, then thinking he was saved by the same person… only to be tortured further. It was a grim picture, and a wonder that Loki was as put together as he was now, all things considered.  
“The worst of it, however, is Cul’s parting blow, about how Loki wished to be you.” Thor said, Looking his way. “Each time he attempted to do good, only ill came of it, for he is the fool of fate. Or so he is wont to say. Even as children, the most noble of his intentions tended to backfire.” He shook his head. “I believe that is why he ceased attempting to be noble.”

“Are you saying you think it’s for the best that he isn’t around NEST anymore? I mean-- sure they’re all barricaded in, but in his place I would have done the same. At least the people who care about that little girl are keeping her safe until.. well, until we can figure this out.” Steve was more than a little indignant. Until he really knew what was going on, what Loki was up to and why he’d vanished… 

“Hold up. Steve: Did you think maybe we should ask the guy who sees everything what he knows about this mystery girl child? Like, not saying I get him, but if I was Loki, maybe I’d be worried about trying to solve that puzzle.” Sam was exactly the voice of reason Steve needed, and he couldn’t decide between wanting to smack himself on the head for not having thought of it, and hugging him. His jovial response was swept aside, though, when Thor spoke.

“My brother has just regained his freedom. You think he would spend time chasing down information to help a mortal, rather than saving his own hide?” Thor looked skeptical, and Sam raised his hands defensively, but Steve could feel his eyes narrowing into a challenging glare. 

“Yeah.” he said, maybe a little louder than necessary. “Yeah, actually, I do. And I think Sam’s right. I think we need to speak with Heimdall.” 

Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Steve felt the hook in the back of his sinuses that lasted only a split second before they were enveloped in light. 

From beside him, there was the rush of the Bifrost on one side and the sound of Sam on the other, experiencing it for the first time. 

They traveled through the cosmos to the soundtrack of an unprepared soldier yelling out,  
“What the heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllllllll--”  
***

He shuddered, standing up and stretching as best as he was able.  
“Jonathan?” He asked, waiting to see if the man was awake

“Loki.” He acknowledged. 

“I’m as ready as I can be, I think.” It had only been a few days, and quick study though he may be, he was not entirely certain of his grasp. Familiarized was perhaps the best he could call himself, and he could not improve without leaving this isolated space. 

“All right. Let me warn the others. Listen in.” Spot opened his eyes and ears to Loki, and he looked out. 

The children were playing a game of cards that involved them laying down cards only to slap their hands quickly atop the stack. Melina and Curtis were curled together, reading a book that he held while she turned the pages. Loki made a mental note about that-- he’d thought them more on the lines of Barton and Romanoff, friends, partners, and occasionally punching bags. But that was… unexpectedly sweet. For them. 

The rest of the adults were gathered under the window, where Grima and Tilda were mapping out the floorplans of NEST, using the tip of Marsha’s finger to burn the lines into a plank of wood that might once have been a bookshelf. 

“Ahem.” Spot cleared his throat and stood. “So I’ve been… sort of quiet. Uh. Wow.” He stumbled as everyone’s attention turned toward him, and he raised his hands at the fierce looks leveled in his direction.  
“Look I’m on your side. Everyone wanted to know where Loki went, right, so I figured I’d just--” Grima had already taken his feet, and Loki rolled his eyes and pulled his consciousness away from Ohnn’s, pushing the sceptre through ahead of himself as he stepped out. 

“Loki.” The Soldier’s voice was back, dead and cold and distant, and the resultant pain in Loki’s chest felt near-crippling after as long as he had spent, running himself through his tortures again and again.

Grima must have seen it on his face, because he reached out before stopping himself. Holding back. Waiting. Loki saw that he’d reached forward with the metal hand, and he wondered what that meant-- wondered if he was a threat now, or if he had given up so soon after texting him.

“I’ve been experimenting. Learning how to use the sceptre. I’m… I think I’m ready to try on someone else, now.” It was Loki’s turn to hesitate, turning tired eyes, stinging from the light, upwards, to meet Grima’s unflinching gaze. He pushed as much apology onto his face as possible. “If you’ll let me. If you-- if you trust me, to.”

Grima stepped forward, his face blank in a way that Loki found incredibly disconcerting. 

“You ran away from me.” He said, and Loki swallowed, unable to look away. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” He tried to tell him, but almost before the words were out of his mouth, Grima had all but barked at him. 

“You did.” 

There was a long silence between them, and Loki could see from the corner of his eyes the way the others shifted uncomfortably, trying to judge whether or not there would be a fight, if they should move away, take shelter, intervene-- or if their actions would cause it to boil over. 

“I’m sorry.” Loki said softly. “I have done what I can, I have learned as much as I could, but I cannot go any further alone. You asked me to use you to test whether the sceptre would work, before. Are you willing now? If I promised--” He licked his lips, nervous and aware of the gravity of the promise he made, what it would mean for himself if he followed through. “If I promise to return to you the sceptre after it has served its purpose-- I have no power without it. You know this. If I give you the power back, will you believe that it has only been my intent to do what is right?” 

Cynthia stepped up beside Grima, her hand on his arm, and Loki was surprised at her daring. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want. This is about me, right? So do the thing on me.” She looked at Loki, and he looked around at the rest of them. Chris had taken half a step forward, and Marsha was keeping a hand on her shoulder, holding him back. 

“What did they do to her?” He demanded, and Loki was surprised to see him not trying to break free of Marsha’s hold. 

“Yeah. We took you at your word about NEST being a threat to the children, and because Cynthia backed you up, we took a leap of faith. And all that’s brought us is this: tiny room, no privacy, save the tiny bathroom over there, little claustrophobic, and more trouble for us when we do come out. But I think it’s time we get to know exactly what we’re dealing with, here. Tell us what they did that justifies this.” Tilda was challenging him, and he couldn’t afford to let her intimidate him, though her words and eyes were sharp. 

He looked back at Cynthia, then over at Grima. No one seemed ready to say anything, and he knew he had to be the one to explain. And he had to do it plainly. No fancy words. No lies. He had to make them believe all of this was worth it, or things could turn very messy, very quickly.

“Grima… James was once someone very different, and then evil men found a way to erase that, and not in just the… the breaking you down, turning you into a warrior way. TThey erased what he knew, everything he was, to turn him into a weapon. When he came here--” Loki bit that off, unwilling to finish the thought in that way. He tried to find a better way of phrasing it, but Grima jumped in. 

“They took what they knew about me and applied it to her. They took away whatever she used to know, whoever she used to be.” He looked down at Cynthia and gently wrapped an arm around her small shoulders, pulling her closer against his side. 

“What… How can they do that? What gives them the right?” Chris demanded, obviously infuriated, and Loki could hardly blame him. Across the room, Curtis was holding Melina’s hand, and Loki did not miss the way she’d gone pale. 

“Nothing. No one. Which is why we have to fight back against it.” He felt weary, but he knew his words had to be strong enough to convey what he couldn’t with his energy. That he had to make these people, who had no reason to trust him, believe in what he was saying. 

He looked out across the faces of this little group, suddenly overwhelmed with a sort of fondness for all of them. Even Maynard. 

“We have, historically, almost to a one of us, been the villains of our stories, but not one of you is a bad person, so far as I can tell. Greed is forgivable, we work for ourselves, we must care for ourselves when others don’t, or won’t, or can’t.” He deliberately met the eyes of each of them in turn, employing all that he had learned from his days thinking he might rule. This was not the army he’d thought he’d lead, not the battle he would have chosen for himself. He could only imagine what Odin-- what Thor would think of this. What Rogers did. It struck him with a small wave of nausea, and he swallowed. He didn’t think anyone would notice. He cleared his throat.

“In this, we are in the right. Those meant to help us, to help Cynthia, have wronged her in a way that goes beyond invasive, it is malicious, it is vicious. It is disgusting. And I can undo what they’ve done, I think. But you have to believe me when I say that is all I am doing, all I will try to do. I wouldn’t risk hurting Grima, who is my... friend.” The word still felt strange to him, particularly so fast on the heels of reliving all that he had been through, all of the times he’d been assured that no one was coming for him, that no one cared enough to. That he was alone. That he always would be.  
Not anymore.  
“And I wouldn’t hurt a child.” He said, pushing every ounce of sincerity within him into the words. “I may be a monster, may have made monstrous decisions, but you have to be something much, much worse to do that.” 

“The decision, ultimately, is up to Grima… and Cynthia. It seems to me--” Everyone had turned to look at Tiboldt, and he seemed to temporarily lose his bluster. He cleared his throat, then pressed on, his voice losing some of its theatricality for the first time since Loki had known the man, causing him to seem all the more sincere for it, all the more respectable. “Seems to me that there have been too many decisions made on their behalf as it is.” 

Loki shivered and Cynthia looked up at Grima. But he was staring resolutely at Loki. 

“We are friends. And I trust you. Help me, Loki. If you can find Bucky in me, you can find whoever she’s supposed to be, too.”  
Though the movement was likely unintentional, Loki could not help but notice how, when Grima stepped forward, he pushed Cynthia behind him, effectively placing himself between her and Loki. 

Loki stepped in, far closer than needed, and wrapped his hand around the back of Grima’s neck. 

They were close enough to kiss, close enough that there was no way that Grima would not meet his eyes. 

“Are you certain?” He asked one final time, the sceptre raised and ready, every person behind the constructed wall looking on, and Loki ignoring all of it. 

“I’m with you.” Grima told him firmly, leaning in so that their foreheads touched.  
Loki took a deep breath, pressed the sceptre to his chest, and let himself sink into Grima, into his consciousness, and then deeper, into the dark recesses of his mind. 

There was so much pain and panic, buffered by chilling periods of empty numbness, but throughout it all there echoed a single vibrant thread of something stronger, something fuller. He followed it like a yarn trail through the fog that battered him. He closed his eyes to the memories that he had no right to-- and the ones he would never forget, if he let himself see them, and pressed onward, inward. 

The fog was more dense here. Progress became slower, more difficult, and Loki had to open his eyes when he couldn’t keep going- but there was nothing to see. The thread he had been following was tangled in itself, forming a cocoon, which he was struggling now to get out of. 

He grew frustrated, but he knew he couldn’t cut it. Knew, somehow, that this thread was part of Bucky, not something put there by SHIELD or Hydra or the Red Room, or anyone else.

He Knew that if he cut it, it would fall away forever. And so he grasped it gently and began untangling it. It slid over itself, and when one moved so did it all, giving this wall of threads the appearance of a pit of snakes, coiling and uncoiling, stretching and rolling. 

He wasn’t sure how long he was at it. Time slipped the way the threads did, and a moment became an hour, became an eon.

Finally, the threads loosened like the laces on a shirt and fell away, sinking to the floor. 

Unsure what to do and only certain that he could not step on them, Loki began ravelling the miles of it together, and he found that when organized, it coiled around itself, turning from a strand into a rope, thickening until it was as big around as his wrist, and stretching out into the darkness ahead. 

With nary a backward glance, he followed it to where a single bright light shone down from above on a crooked hole in the blackness of the floor. 

As he approached, he heard a wavering voice, thin and broken and rough, but familiar.  
He looked down and saw Grima-- Bucky-- huddled at the bottom of the pit, dirty and desperate and hurt looking, but whole.  
‘Three. Two. Five. Five. Seven. Zero. Three. Eight. Three. Two. Five. Five. Seven--’ it was a chant, held in rhythm to his rocking, and Loki felt a chill wrack through him. 

Without thinking, he lowered the rope. 

“Bucky? James Barnes?” He asked, his voice too loud against the haunting background of the other man’s chant. “My name is Loki. I’m a friend of-- I’m a friend of Steve Rogers. And I’m here to bring you back to him.” 

Beneath him, Bucky looked up. 

“I know you.” He said, and Loki felt dread welling in his gut. But Bucky spoke again. “You saved me from the nightmares. Loki.” He stood, using the walls to support legs that wobbled. “I trust you.” He said, with the same gravity as if he were pledging his life. 

“Then come with me,” Loki begged, swinging the rope back and forth. Bucky took hold, hesitantly at first, and then firmly.  
Together, they pulled him up, pulled him towards the light. And when he reached the top, and Loki put his hand out to lift him the last few feet, their hands touched. Light flared between them, and Loki was knocked to the floor.

When he opened his eyes, he was inside the barricaded room of NEST again, with everyone looking on. Cynthia knelt beside him, and Grima…  
Grima wasn’t there any more. 

The way he stood, the way he held his face, the way he looked around in wonder and understanding… that wasn’t Grima. 

“Barnes?” Loki asked, his voice rougher here than it had been in the man’s mind. 

“I think you have your proof.” He said. “I remember… I remember all of it. I remember you, and the conditioning, the shocks, the missions, the fall, Steve… I remember… so much.” He sounded overwhelmed by it, and Loki felt glad enough that he surged to his feet and let out a relieved whoop, catching Bucky up in a hug. 

“It worked!” he said, elated beyond the ability to find better words. “It worked, you’re-- you’re back. I can’t wait for Steve to see--” He cut himself off, suddenly realizing that it was unlikely that Steve would be pleased with him. 

The stolen sceptre. The trouble at NEST. The fact that he had been inside Bucky’s head-- would they ever be able to believe that he was not compromised again?  
Would he have the same connection with him that he had had to Barton?

There was so much they were not yet sure of. So much they couldn’t count on. And Bucky had stiffened in his grasp. 

Carefully, Loki released him and stepped back, afraid he’d ruined something after all, crossed some lines. Perhaps destroyed the friendship they had had. 

“Is it… okay? Is it better?” He asked softly. 

Barnes smiled.  
“It’s me. It’s bad… but it’s me, it’s mine, I have it back now. It’s all I’ve wanted for so long now, I didn’t even remember what it was to want.”  
Loki nodded, though he didn’t fully understand.

Beside him, Cynthia tugged at his sleeve. He looked down at her, and she handed him the sceptre.  
“Is it my turn now?” She asked, and Loki looked around at the others who were watching. Her decision, he knew, but she was young, and the entire reason any of them were here now was to protect her. If any spoke up, if there were suspicions… He was tired, and it was invasive-- could have been, for all they knew, a complete violation. Hell, he and Grima could have cooked up the whole plan. And even if they believed that Bucky was Bucky, now, they didn’t know if there were any drawbacks yet.  
Chris broke free of Marsha’s hold and came forward, putting his hand on Cynthia’s shoulder. 

“Please, Loki? I… Cynthia is my friend. She deserves to know. They have no right to keep her from herself.” 

Loki sighed, swallowing the fear, the uncertainty that had risen into his throat and turned breathing difficult.  
“Give me a few minutes to recover, and then yes. It will be your turn.” 

***

Heimdall’s words shook him, set his teeth on edge. They had been so close, Steve had been in the same room with her, had said hello, he’d looked at pictures trying to figure all of this out-- how had he now known, how did he not guess? 

His silent upset was interrupted as Heimdall spoke again, the words sudden. 

“Thor-- Captain-- Sam: Loki has returned. He is in the NEST now, with her. He is using the sceptre on your friend.”  
Cold fear blossomed in every inch of Steve’s body, and he shuddered. 

“How precise is the Bifrost? Can you put us down outside? We can’t let him-- we have to get there right away.”  
Steve’s hands were shaking where they were clenched in front of him. 

“The Bifrost will let you out as near to there as I safely can. No more, no less.” Though Heimdall seemed unruffled, even Steve could hear the increase in the speed of his speech. 

“Thank you, Good Heimdall.” Thor said, ushering his friends into place. Sam and Steve braced themselves, and the wrenching gut churning colors and movement came again, this time with the added stress of their time constraint and imminent upheaval if they didn’t get there in time. 

The moment they land, Steve puts a call into Fury while running for NEST like a mad man, uncaring if he pants into the receiver on the way. 

“Loki’s back, he’s at NEST. Your cover up is about to be blown-- he’s using the sceptre on Bucky. I think the girl is next.”

Fury swore. “How far out are you?”

“I’m going around the back now, we’re gonna try and gain access through the window hole Sharon was using.” 

The line went dead with no further comment, and all Steve could do was hope that after everything, Fury wasn’t about to go in, guns blazing. He’d just gambled four of his best friends’ lives on that fact, plus the rest of the thus-far non violent inhabitants of the barricaded room.. 

“Sam I need you to go in through the front, make sure no one is trying to gain access that way. Thor, you should stay outside. I don’t know if seeing you will set Loki off, after all that’s happened, but I might need you to back me up, depending on what Loki-- depending.” He didn’t want to finish that sentence, didn’t want to be like everyone else, expecting only the worst of him.

He reached the dividing point and didn’t check to see if he was being obeyed. He knew, with this team, he didn’t have to worry about it.  
He just hurtled full speed directly at the window and swung the shield up to hit it as hard as he could, the impact doubling or more with the force of the vibranium. 

The piano lid crashed to the floor just in time for him to see Loki being thrown backwards, the force of the young girl’s shove completely disproportionate to her appearance. 

She looked incredibly fierce, her young face contorted by the grimace she wore. She stooped and picked up the sceptre, and that simple movement made everyone snap out of their stunned stupors.

“What happened? What did he do to you?” The first words out of Tilda’s mouth made Steve cringe. 

“Cynthia..” Chris stepped forward, his hands raised to placate, clearly expecting this to be something he had dealt with before.  
“It’s Sin now.” She told him. “It’s always been Sin.” She pulled her arm back and sprung forward, the intent clearly to run the teen boy through with the spear-- the way Loki had Coulson, a lifetime ago. 

Steve would have gotten there too late. Anyone else would have.  
Except Loki. 

She launched herself forward, and the blade of it slid into his stomach, where Chris’s chest would have been, half a second prior. 

Steve felt like time got too fast and too slow all at once. 

Melina kicked the sceptre and sent it flying out of Sin’s hands, Loki fell to the ground. Marsha grabbed Chris and pulled him back, and Sharon slunk out the hole that had been the window. The others surged into action, some forward and some away from the fight. 

Sin scrambled, managed to retrieve the sceptre, and vaulted out of the only exit open to her.

Steve registered the dangers-- an entire room full of super powered people, upset and unsure whose side they should be on. An evil that he hadn’t thought of in a year or more, escaping with a magical item of unknown power. Loki--

He put the shield over Loki, covering as much of his head and torso as possible, and started shouting orders. 

“Grab Sin, get the sceptre, SAM, THOR, DON’T LET SIN ESCAPE.” 

But all of that was secondary, his mind and body doing what the serum told it that it needed to.  
He turned back from gesturing at everyone to find Grima curling his metal arm under Loki’s head and lifting him up. 

“Grima, can you carry him out? We need to get him to a doctor, we have to stitch him up.” Steve was speaking fast, unsure how close he was to babbling and not particularly caring. 

“Yeah I have him, you get the girl, punk.”

“Probably the first time you’ve said that to me,” Steve fired back, falling instantly into old patterns and turning his back to him before he did a double take. “Bucky?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes.  
“GO!”

Steve wasn’t sure what that left Loki with-- his friend, Steve’s friend, some conglomeration… it didn’t matter, he realized. He trusted Bucky in whatever mind state. 

He launched himself through the window as well, and saw Sin pretting the sceptre to Thor’s chest, not to pierce the armor, but the way Loki had done to bind people to him. Steve’s blood went cold. 

“NO.” The word came out of him as he went running, but his shout seemed to have been enough. Sharon, from her perch on the room, shrieked and dove for Sin, who had to turn to throw her off. This gave enough time for Thor to regain himself-- but he did not know who was who, and grabbed Sharon-- the one he had seen attacking someone else-- by mistake. 

Sin scampered off, and Steve shouted out a “Not her, get the sceptre!” as he ran past his friend, but by the time he rounded the building, Sin was nowhere in sight.  
He headed to the front, putting a call in to Fury. 

“I lost visual, does anyone have eyes on Sin?” He asked. His heart was thudding against his ribs. 

“Sin, huh? Take it Loki got to her then. No, we have no eyes on her that I know of. Hill, get me a confirmation on that with all agents.” In the background, Steve heard Maria reply in the affirmative. 

“There’s something else.” Steve said. “I need medical on scene fast as you can get it and faster. Loki--” he cut himself off, seeing Bucky coming up behind him, Loki in his arms… and an unhealthy pool of red all down his front. “It’s not good. I have to get pressure on that, get them here yesterday.” Steve ended the transmission, unwilling to argue about their using S.H.I.E.L.D. resources on a bad guy. 

Loki wasn’t, as far as he could tell, all that bad. Not actively, not…  
He groaned and moved to Bucky’s side.  
“Can I have your shirt?” He asked, unwilling to put Loki, wound and all, on the grass. 

Before Bucky could take it off, Thor was there, spreading his cape out. Steve thanked him tersely.

“Spread him out, I need… yeah.” Bucky was already working, and Loki was staring, blinking, his lips moving soundlessly. 

Steve got his hands on Loki’s shirt, tearing it free. 

It didn’t look good, not actively spurting, but more of a long slow leak. Loki’s hand fell on his elbow, and he leaned in, trying to figure out what he was saying, hoping he had a trick left, something he could use to save himself. 

“--en I try to help. Ruin. Things.” 

Steve’s stomach twisted.  
“No, no, Loki, you were doing what was right, you were--” He broke his words off, as he suddenly realized there was a breeze that hadn’t been there.  
Bucky wasn’t moving, nor was Thor. All around them, everything was still. Everything. The grass didn’t shift. There were no sounds, save the wind, not even the sounds of animals, insects… nothing.  
It was a warm day out, but Steve got a chill, started shivering, saw his breath. And then he saw, striding across the lawn, Her footsteps silent and Her dress and robe not disturbing a single thing, a woman. Beautiful and pale… but Her eyes. 

They were pure white. 

And all of a sudden, Loki’s words about how Thanos had tortured him by showing him every version of his fate, so that She would come, returned to Steve. And suddenly, he knew exactly who the woman was. 

“Mother.” Loki breathed out, and Steve looked down to see his eyes fixed on her as well. 

“No, Loki, shh, look at me, don’t look at her. You know She’s not-- Frigga is dead, Loki, and you can’t--” Tears were running down his face now, dripping on Loki’s, and he was using his hands to block Loki’s gaze, as if making him not able to see Her would make Her go away. 

But this wasn’t a boogey man, wasn’t some nightmare. This was Death. And She came for everyone. Whether they saw Her or not. 

***

Everything rushed, pulsed and faded and moved at odds with one another. He was dizzy, couldn’t tell where he was at any given time. Lifted, carried, flying? Laid out. Thor was there-- he must be dreaming. 

And Rogers, dear, kind Captain Rogers, who did not believe he deserved to be left to his fate. He put a hand on his arm, trying to get him to stop-- let him bleed out before he caused any more damage to anyone else around him. 

He spoke, trying to explain, and Rogers told him no. 

But midsentence, the Captain broke off, and Loki lolled his head to see why-- and there She was. Walking through the field as calmly and clearly as any of the rest of the summer day around Her. 

“Mother.” He said. 

The Captain pushed his face away, shielded his eyes. Reminded him that Frigga was dead. 

Then I am close to it myself. He thought with some satisfaction. 

He fought back, knowing who the woman was, wanting to see Her just the same. He didn’t understand. Why did Rogers think he could fight this? 

Rogers seemed to know who She was as well, and he stood hastily, placing himself between Her and Loki. 

She looked over Rogers’ shoulder, and Loki knew without hearing-- for there were no words, either spoken or within his mind, he merely knew…

“Ssss--” He hissed, unable to force the words between lips that felt too thick, filled with blood that seemed to pump too cold, too slow.  
He fought back, remembering the last time he couldn’t speak, remembering the horror of the laces through his lips, the way Rogers had broken through them. She nodded to him, and suddenly it came easier-- not easily, but it was possible now to speak.  
“Steven.” He croaked, and the Captain spun, obviously surprised. “She… does not. Enjoy Her fate being dictated. By any. Including… titans. She has given… five minutes.” He closed his eyes, unable to keep them open longer. 

He heard Rogers move again, this time to face Her.  
“Five minutes? What is that going to do? Look at him, look at everything he’s gone through-- look what he was trying to do! You don’t like fate? Help him fight it. Don’t--” Rogers stopped suddenly, and Loki wrestled his eyes open, afraid She had taken offense and done something, harmed him somehow. 

But She was gone. Rogers returned to his side, looking horrified, but resigned. 

“I really thought She was going to help.” The Captain said, obviously already blaming himself. Loki took hold of his hand, words coming quieter, without her help.  
“She has.” it was barely a breath, and then the world sprung back into action around them. 

Thor approached, dropping to his knees beside him, and Bucky followed suit. Loki looked around, surprised a little. Here he was, surrounded by all but one of the people he had loved most in all the worlds who yet lived. He felt a tear sliding across his cheek. It was humbling, the greatness that surrounded him. And how few the number. 

“Brother, please-- I must apologize. But I will not have the chance if you do not first accept this. I was wrong, Odin was wrong.” Thor spoke lowly and faster than Loki was used to hearing him, and he produced from a pouch at his side...an apple. A golden apple. One of Idunn’s. 

Immortality, enough life to survive this. For him. But what had he to live for? He did not deserve… 

“Frigga.” Loki said, his voice rough. He saw Rogers flinch, but felt his hand tighten around his own. Strengthened, knowing it was something he had to do, Loki pushed on. His words came slowly, the effort great and his reserves failing him. “I told… Kursed. Where to go. She is dead because…” He had to let it trail off, his tears damning enough and the words making his weak heart try to fight, the guilt as heavy on his chest as if Thor had set Mjolnir there. 

Thor reached out and wrapped Loki’s fingers around the apple just the same. 

“She is dead because of things outside of our control, yours or mine. The Kursed would have found her just the same, for Jane was with her, and the Aether called to them. Eat the apple, Loki, take the life I offer you, and allow me not to fail you again.” Thor was pleading, and Loki could see Rogers and Bucky looking on, obviously confused. 

Loki laughed, the sound a dry huff. 

All they saw was two men, brothers and enemies, one dying, arguing about fruit. 

In his state, that was hysterically funny. He could not stop laughing, soundlessly, but the motion was enough. Thor lifted Loki’s hand and pressed it to his lips, and as he laughed, his teeth closed on the fruit, the skin breaking and the juice flowing over his lips into his mouth. His eyes slid closed and the single bite of apple sat in his mouth as he felt his feeble grip on life fade. 

His world went black, and Loki knew that he was done. Strangely, he was not afraid. Not any more. This was a much more peaceful end than he had pictured for himself. Nicer. 

And then his eyes opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, I'm so sorry, I had so much more ground to cover than I anticipated. So here is a very large chapter, and the knowledge that there is yet more to come... sorry about that ending. (not really, sorry not sorry? I can only hope you will like where it goes from here)  
> Special thanks to Lena7142 for reminding me exactly why I love these characters as much as I do, and getting me through a terrible slump in my writing. You are the fucking best!


	13. Thirteen

They were gathered around Steve’s bed, where he had settled Loki once the stitches had been put in place, and the moment the doctors-- not S.H.I.E.L.D., not Fury, only those concerned with Loki’s well being-- had decided it would be safe to move him.

Thor had sworn them to secrecy, and his pouch now held the core of the apple, the rest of which he had cut up small and all but forced into Loki while they waited for the S.H.I.E.L.D. Medical team to arrive. 

Loki himself slept on, and Steve had chucked all three of their phones-- his, Bucky’s, and Loki’s-- into the elevator shaft at the hospital before they left. 

S.H.I.E.L.D. would be here eventually, but they would deal with that when it came time to. 

None of them was ready yet to leave the side of this man, this once-villain. Which, considering how far he had come, both in healing and in his actions, was hardly surprising. His growth, just since falling to Earth, since being thrown here, was nothing short of amazing. 

And Steve wasn’t about to let some asshole agency who thought that brainwashing a child with Nazi technology was okay take possession of either of his friends, not Loki or Bucky. 

They were speaking quietly now, Loki’s brother and Steve’s, trading stories of the man who they had saved, and who had saved them. There were sounds from Steve’s kitchen where Sam was apparently finding his cookware unimpressive and possibly unusable. The sound was relaxing, because it lent normalcy to this day, which had been anything but.

Steve himself was silent, his eyes on Loki’s face, though not really focusing there. He was… conflicted. There had been something in Steve that had been desperate not to lose Loki, something that had been too terrified of the prospect to be able to see straight. Something that had nothing to do with pity for him and the life he’d led or the injuries he’d sustained. 

And hearing his name-- his first name, not Rogers or Captain coming from that mouth, even on the verge of death… it gave him the same feeling he’d had in his chest when he was talking to Peggy and the plane was tanking. Like he was losing something important. And how had Loki become that, when just a day ago, Steve was trying not to acknowledge how much he didn’t trust him?

He was so focused on that, on what that meant and the terror that formed in his gut at the dawning understanding of it, that it took him a few moments to realize that Loki’s eyes had opened, that he was looking straight into Steve’s face and saying nothing. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and he heard Thor and Bucky’s voices stop around him, but his sight was only for Loki. 

“I ruined everything, didn’t I?” He asked, rather than answering, his eyes slipping closed again. “I tried to do good, and I unleashed evil. Fate’s favorite joke.” A tear rolled out from under his lashes, the salt only adding to the bitterness of his words.

“Loki…” Thor’s voice was a rumble from beside him, and Loki jumped, obviously having been too far out of it to register his presence properly. 

“Thor?” Loki asked, scared sounding. “I thought I’d imagined…”

Thor looked pained. 

“I am here. I’ve restored your years with one of the fruits of Idunn. I was wrong. Father was wrong, I… cannot apologize enough. I am sorry, Loki. We took you for a monster, and--” Thor faltered, and Loki shook his head. 

“I am a monster.” Loki spoke lowly but with an intensity that almost made Steve step backwards. “I-- I killed Frigga, I unleashed Sin, I--”

“Loki.” Steve interrupted, unable to listen to that any more. “Stop that. We know what you’ve done, and we’re telling you, you are not a monster. And remember, you don’t like making a liar out of others.” He quoted the words back to him from so long ago, then glanced up to meet Bucky’s eyes. 

Bucky who was staring intently at him. 

Steve felt himself flushing under the scrutiny, though he didn’t know why. Finally, Bucky looked down at Loki, though he didn’t speak

“Your actions have not been those of a monster. Why did you not go to Idunn, steal an apple under a guise? Why did you not carry your sceptre with you and put Odin under your thrall, order him to restore to you all that you had lost? You could have. If I can think of it, I know you did. So why?” Thor pressed. 

“Because I don’t want to be the monster I am!” Loki spoke loudly enough that Sam came to the door, spatula in one hand and a semi automatic pistol in the other. 

“I thought we were being invaded from all the noise. What’s going on in here?” 

Steve thought quickly and made a choice. 

He stood. 

“Bucky and I are going to help you in the kitchen. I think Thor and Loki need to talk.” Steve fixed them both with his stare, in turn. 

“Loki you need to stay in bed, and Thor… Don’t rile him up too much, okay? If either of you need backup, give a call. We’ll come running.” 

Steve lifted a brow at Bucky, who hadn’t budged yet, and willed him to rise, to follow. Eventually, haltingly, he did. 

Once out of the room, Bucky sat himself down at the kitchen table. 

“This is fucked and you know it.” He said without preamble, some of the bluntness and darkness of the Winter Soldier still hovering at the edges of his friend’s face. “You know what they did to him. Hell, you saw him much worse than I did. Why would you leave him alone in there?” His jaw clenched, as did his hand, and Steve watched both, not quite looking Bucky in the eye. 

“It’s up to Loki whether he gives Thor a second chance. But it’s up to us to give him that choice. And… you didn’t see Thor when I explained to him… they thought Loki betrayed them. They didn’t realize that they were kicking him when he was already in the gutter. They thought they were knocking him off his perch. One that he had gained by selling them to their enemy.” 

“So that makes it right? Go on, tell me next how NEST messing with Sin’s mind was a good idea.” Bucky was challenging him outright now. It would have made Steve’s heart glad, if he wasn’t so muddled up by the right and wrongs of all of this. 

“No one deserves that.” Sam said quietly. “But it might help us now. Think about it. You know Sin, you know her story, hell, the whole world does. Her daddy was the Red Skull, the nightmare you took down, and he raised her on a daily dose of what Thor gave Loki that one time. And then he got tired of waiting, took his itty bitty baby daughter and turned her into his grown up daughter. Not only did she not get a childhood, she was a tiny child inside of a killing machine, who all of a sudden had some kind of fucked up sadistic sex appeal to assholes like Rumlow.” Sam shook his head. “I’m not saying that they were right, but if they could have found some other way to undo all that, to take that from her and let her grow up with people… You have all of your memories, right?” He asked Bucky. “From Bucky and from the Soldier and from Grima?”

Bucky grunted a little and it seemed that was meant to be an affirmative. 

“So no matter what, now she’s got memories of all those people being kind to her, being sweet. Being humans, real people that she had real feelings for, before the part of her mind that had feeling scooped out of it came back. Maybe some of that may have managed to get held over. Maybe she’s not as much of a bad guy now, either.” Sam pointed out.

“I am curious about how they made her young again, though. That sort of tech-- I thought that was beyond anything we had. Always more secrets.” Steve wasn’t happy with Fury, wasn’t pleased with Rivera, or anyone involved in this. It was too shady, too questionable.

“I’m not the guy to ask about that. Here, have some lemonade. You look like you could use it. Well, you look like you could use something stronger, but I know you can’t get drunk, it’s not noon yet, and I’m not wasting good whiskey on your impossible metabolisms.” Sam put a pitcher and two cups down between the soldiers at his table.

Steve gave his friend a lopsided grin. “Thanks, Sam.” He said softly. 

“I’m glad you aren’t alone anymore.” Bucky said after a minute. He looked up at Sam. “Thanks for taking care of this knucklehead for me. I owe you one.” 

“Have you seen him? He takes pretty good care of himself these days. Saved my ass more than once.” Sam lifted his shoulder. 

“Yeah, but he’s not exactly one for knowing when to quit. He needs guys like you around, talk some sense into him. I’m real glad you were here.” 

Steve reached across the table and held onto Bucky’s shoulder. 

“It’s good to have you back.” He said softly. 

Bucky looked down at the hand, then up at him, and Steve was afraid he had crossed some kind of line. But Bucky just grabbed the hand on his shoulder and said, “Me too.”

The moment was broken by Sam putting a heaping plate of scrambled eggs on the table-- Steve couldn’t guess how many dozen that was, but the number was not small. 

“Do you want to go tell the alien gods they can come eat, or should I?” He asked, arching a brow and smiling with his eyes. 

Steve shook his head. 

“You guys get started, I’ll grab them.” 

“If I get started it’ll be gone before you get back, punk. Better hurry!” Bucky called after him, and the grin that overtook his face nearly hurt. How many times had he heard that, and how many times had he come to the table to find the food untouched, or worse, already portioned out, and the larger half on Steve’s own plate. It was hard to believe, but this really was Bucky. Worse for the years and experience, but him just the same. 

His smile fell away though, as he came to the doorway of his bedroom where Loki was sitting up, his legs hanging over the side of the bed, and Thor was at his side, an arm draped across his shoulders. Loki looked wary, uncomfortable, but he wasn’t moving to end the contact or get away.

Steve didn’t know what had been said, but it seemed whatever it was, it had at least started them down the path to being okay. 

He didn’t know how. He had a feeling it would be a long time before he forgot the look in Loki’s eyes the first time it had rained while he was on earth, when his lips had still been stitched shut, and he expected Thor to show up at any time to finish him off. And some part of him, the part that wasn’t just about fighting bullies… the part that wanted them to be sure never to bully anyone else ever again, wished Thor could have seen that look too, could have been there, could be haunted now by the pain he’d caused and the damage he’d inflicted. 

But then, he was stuck with the images of himself causing them in the first place. Hopefully that would be enough. 

He knocked on his own bedroom door, feeling oddly out of place. 

“Sam made breakfast, if you guys are hungry. Can you-- Loki can you eat?” He realized that he had no idea after the latest bout of healing that the sceptre had allowed, whether Loki could have solid foods again, along with his walking. He didn’t know what it had done-- did he have his power back? 

And the apple, clearly it had brought him back from the brink. What else did it do?

The tactician in him wanted to ask questions, but he knew now wasn’t the time. 

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Loki asked, and Steve had to hide the near-wince he had as a reaction to the strain in his voice.

Steve hung back, worriedly watching as Thor helped Loki to his feet, waiting to see if he would need to jump in, to help Loki balance, but it turned out to be unnecessary. 

Loki could keep his feet perfectly well, his legs in perfect working order again as if nothing had happened. 

That was a relief, but not as much of one as watching him push forkful after forkful of egg into his mouth. Steve found himself watching the way Thor watched him, how Bucky watched him, and Sam was the only person who seemed able to keep himself from staring. 

“So I suppose we should talk about what are plans are from here on out, huh?” It was Sam who finally broached the subject, and while Steve would have warned against spoiling Loki and Bucky’s respective appetites, after several days of poor enough eating on both their sides, it was Bucky who spoke up. 

“I’m not going back to NEST.” He said bluntly, and Steve nearly choked in his haste to swallow, to reassure him that no one would dream of trying to make him, but Bucky wasn’t done.

“I think I want to disappear for a little bit, but I am going to talk to Rivera. Find out what her angle is, make sure no one still at NEST is being punished for helping us.”

Steve nodded. 

“Of course, and we’ll help you in that, I’ll help you with whatever you need. Just-- if you mean disappear as in… y’aren’t leaving me already are you?” He let a little of his old mulish streets of Brooklyn accent creep into his voice. Bucky just grinned. 

“You think you can get rid of me that easy? Hell nawh, Stevie, you’re stuck with me.” He sobered, though. “I just need to take some time to myself, find the balance between who I was, who they made me, and who I was turning into, to figure out who I am now.” He didn’t look at Loki while he spoke, and Loki looked uncomfortable at that.

Steve wondered what had been said between them, what had happened after Loki left, at least in Bucky’s mind. 

“So Barnes is making house calls from here on out. Who’s next?” Sam asked, as if they were making a list-- or in one of his help classes. 

“Before you run off, Buck, can you tell me a couple things? Like how you knew the scepter was there, and how you got your hands on it?” That was a security question to take back to Fury, because he knew he’d need to mollify him somehow. 

“You took out Hydra, yeah, but their mechanisms are still there, some of them, hidden in your shiny SHIELD computers. I was a much higher ranked secret than most people had access to... and so my access code had acquisition permissions above and beyond the top tiers. Why deny a tool a weapon? So when I ran off, I knew you said you’d got the sceptre, I just punched in my access ID and searched for it. And there it was, directions and authorization to take it. Piece of pie.”

Sam whistled. “And we were worried about leaked documents a few months back. That’s wild.” 

“Yeah, I’ll have to let Tony know, see if he can’t root it out. I’m gonna go ahead and guess you shouldn’t rely on that system anymore. Can you tell me what your passcode was?” Steve asked. He wanted to shove the words back in his mouth at how sad Bucky looked at that. 

“Same thing it always was. 32557-038. Barnes. Didn’t know what the Barnes part meant, after a while.” Steve shuddered, hearing it reported in the same, quiet to almost dead voice that Bucky had used when he found him all those years back, tied to a table and resisting, still fighting. 

“And then you press the pound sign.” Bucky added after a moment, and just like that, the tension broke. Steve put a hand on his and patted it, a silent nod to the shared horror, a silent ‘glad you’re okay.’

“How about you, Thor? What’s your plan from here?” Sam asked, moving clockwise around the table, probably the way he did in his groups. 

“I think I must return and talk to our-- to my father.” He said, looking to Loki. Steve was surprised, but glad. It made sense that Loki would want to distance himself from the man who had dropped all of this on him, who had betrayed him and hurt him and scarred him up, had taken so much away. 

“I’ve disobeyed him in restoring to Loki his years and his strength, and I must answer for it, but more than that, Odin must answer for the wrongs he has committed. And I think none but me would dare to challenge him. Not now that Loki is here.” Thor looked sad and fond, and Loki gave him a weak smirk. 

“I only hope you have gotten better at arguing since you’ve grown up brother.” Loki told him. “The last I heard of you two fighting, it was aught but shouted vowels and flying spittle.” He sounded brittle, but the fact that he was mocking at all seemed like a good sign, as far as Steve was concerned. Thor seemed to agree, glancing, unnecessarily, over at Steve.

“And you, Loki?” Sam asked, but his voice was quieter, like he knew he wasn’t gonna like the answer. 

“I don’t know.” Loki said slowly, looking down at his plate, which seemed no longer to appeal to him, because he pushed it away. Steve shot a reprimanding look at Sam, but Loki kept talking. 

“I am not welcome on Asgard, and as soon as your people realize I am here, I will be in danger. I may have my years and strength back, but without my magic, I am very nearly helpless. I cannot fight to injure if my attackers mean to kill, and killing will only result in my being imprisoned again by your authorities, SHIELD or otherwise.” Loki shook his head. “Provided I was allowed to walk among your people at all.” 

He looked at Steve, too, as though he expected an answer. 

Steve had none, though, and flinched when Sam asked,

“Steve?”

“I um. I guess, obviously my first step is talking to SHIELD and Tony about the security flaws, finding out what they think they want to do with Loki, probably disobeying some orders on that front--” He turned to look at the man in question. “I’m not letting them lock you up again.” then at Bucky. “Either of you. Not while we don’t know who we can trust, not while we don’t know what’s safe, and what they might have convinced themselves it’s okay to do ‘for the greater good’.” He could hear the heat of his anger in his voice, and cleared his throat. 

“Sorry.” He said, and adjusted his gaze to the table. 

“I also need to find Sin. It’s our fault she’s on the loose, she’s probably even less stable now than she was, and if we’re really lucky she’ll lead us right to her father.” He made eye contact with Loki again. “If, of course, you’re willing to help me.”

Loki stared at him, surprised. 

“Me? I’m useless to you. I haven’t my magic, remember? What I had was all wrapped up in the sceptre, which, as you’ll recall, Cynthia ran off with. Sin.” He corrected himself. Steve felt bad for him. Here they were talking about tracking her down, and he still could only think of her as the little girl he’d known at NEST.

“Yes, but you have knowledge of the sceptre, which will come in handy, and unless Bucky plans on taking you on the run with him, or Sam thinks it would be a good idea for you to move in with him-- kidding Sam-- The only option I see is SHIELD assigning me to help you acclimatize to Earth. By which I mean, if you want to come with me, we’ll go after Sin and keep moving long enough to keep you safe, while PR figures out a way to make the world see you’ve changed.”

Loki seemed unconvinced. “Have I, though? Enough that you feel I should ever be safe in this realm? Especially when your people come to know that Sin and any harm she does, falls to my shoulders?” Thor reached over to pat at Loki’s arm, and Loki flicked a glance of annoyance towards him that Thor cringed from, but neither withdrew. 

And Steve felt a horrible lurching in his stomach, because he couldn’t say yes, not honestly. And if anyone was owed honesty at this point, it was Loki.

“I don’t know.” He said instead. “I think if given the chance to prove yourself, if you were willing… The Hulk didn’t make a great impression either, until he stood up to you.” He reminded him, discovering to his surprise that somehow the two versions of Loki that had been so at odds for so long in his mind had somehow become the same. 

He wondered if it might have been the suspicion, the fear that Loki had returned to his ways, when he disappeared. It would have forced him to see him not just as victim or villain, forced him to see the man who was both. 

“I think I need to get information about the sceptre and how it works to SHIELD, but I need to do so without you being in danger of being caught. Now, I can’t leave you and call, because there’s a good chance they would track the call. And I can’t take you with me, because we both might end up in a cage. So I’m thinking if we can send one of you-- not you Bucky, but Thor or Sam in, maybe we can call you? At least then if someone shows up, I’ll be with Loki.” Steve looked between his friends, uncertain. 

“Could we not protect him?” Thor asked, apparently bristling. 

Steve shook his head. 

“It isn’t that, you are a great warrior, to be sure.” He said, glancing to Loki to be sure the wording was appropriate. He got a small nod in response. “But I’ve been trained in their tactics. And in order to stay in the right, we cannot kill or unduly injure any of our attackers. Which is why it falls to me to protect Loki. His escape from the hospital is my responsibility. When you sent him down here, I found him, and that also makes him my responsibility, for however long he’s here.”

Thor nodded and stood. 

“I will go speak to Fury. I will tell him of your wish to speak, and that should he interfere with Loki’s freedom without just cause, he risks the ire of Asgard.” Thor told them, and Sam let out a low whistle. Steve wanted to object, to tell Thor not to threaten with war, that it wouldn’t make them look any better to SHIELD, but he caught sight of Loki and stopped.

Loki was looking at him with a face that begged for his silence. So Steve kept his mouth shut, though it was a close thing.

“And then I will return to Asgard and speak to Odin.”

“Goodbye-- brother.” Loki said softly, and Thor reached out to take a surprisingly gentle hold of Loki’s shoulder. 

“Thank you, Loki. For your forgiveness. Friends Steve, Sam, and Bucky, goodbye for now. I will return as soon as I may. Thank you for your help in caring for Loki, and for your help in opening my eyes.”Thor’s gaze settled on Steve, and he found himself nodding as well, the room tense from the solemness of the moment. 

And it only broke when Thor left. The wind picked up and Steve could see him launching the hammer and himself.

After that, it was as if everyone in the room let out a breath. 

“So I guess that leaves me, doing the Sam thing.” Sam said, not sounding unduly put out about it. 

“Actually, I was hoping you might be willing to go to NEST, maybe keep an eye on a few of the residents there. They may be ex-villains, but I think it’s reasonable to say that you are safe, given how their revolt went.” Steve wouldn’t send his friends into danger if he could help it.

“Steve, if you say it’s safe, I’d tap dance across a minefield.” Sam told him, and Bucky snorted. 

“This to the scrawny sick kid who thought it was a good idea to take on-- how many was it? Six guys? Over a lifted candy bar.” Bucky was making fun of him, showing his care the way they always had.

“Somethin’ like that,” Steve answered, both embarrassed to be reminded and ecstatic that Bucky remembered.

“On second thought, please don’t ask me to dance across a minefield.” Sam said, looking between them with a little smile quirking his lips upwards. 

Steve glanced at Loki, though, and saw his attention turned downwards, his eyes shining wetly. He swallowed, remembering the time Loki had stood on wobbling legs, accusing him of only coming to visit in a bid to use Loki to get closer to Bucky. He remembered how Bucky had held Loki, after that. Loki was prone to jealousy… and self doubt. Steve knew that. 

And all Steve had done that day was make him feel like a burden, talk about him like he was something to be handed off, protected… hardly a person. And with Bucky not really even acknowledging Loki… 

He’d been an idiot. And he was sure Thor hadn’t helped matters. No matter the front Loki was putting on of reconciliation. 

He needed to get Loki alone, needed to talk to him and find out what else was wrong, reassure him without upsetting anyone else. 

He must have kept looking at him, because he saw the moment Loki noticed, which was about a moment before his eyes flicked up and met Steve’s. 

He watched him heave a sigh. 

“May I speak with you privately, Captain?” He asked, and Steve all but scrambled out of his chair.

“Yeah of course-- do you-- can I help you?” He didn’t want to force his aid. 

“I manage.” Loki said icily, and Steve nearly flinched. 

“We’re just gonna--” Steve gestured back towards his room, letting Loki start on his way, so that Steve wasn’t hovering over him. 

Bucky nodded, a half smile on his face. 

“We’ll be fine Steve. I have a lot of stories to trade with this guy,” he told him, looking over at Sam and leaning forward, his hands clasped under his chin. 

Steve had a feeling whatever was said now between them would be used against him later. 

But he needed to focus on one thing at a time, and right now, that needed to be Loki.

He followed him back into his room, and found Loki already seated on the edge of the bed, no doubt having arranged it so that he wouldn’t have to spend too much time on his feet. After everything, he still needed time to heal, whether he would admit to it or not. Time to regain his strength. 

He had his years back. Apparently that didn’t come with instant healing. It was faster than normal human speeds,a t least, so Steve could be glad for that.

“Well?” Loki asked. 

“Well…” Steve hedged, unsure what Loki was expecting from him.

“Well, you have been staring at me. What is it that you want, what is it I am doing wrong now?” Loki seemed to have reached the end of his patience, and it was almost gratifying hearing the calm begin to unravel. 

“I just wanted to know why you’re playing like everything’s fine. You’ve never been shy about telling me when you’ve been hurt before, but ever since you woke up--” 

Loki barked out a sharp laugh.

“Yes, I suppose if your torturer was in the room, patting your hand and promising you comfort, you too would be quick to speak up. Or did you forget at whose hands I suffered the injuries you found me with?” Loki glared at him. “Thor’s gift of my years was kind, but I did not want it. Not from him. Not from anyone.”

Steve felt like a knife had been sunk into his chest. 

“What do you mean?” He asked softly, not sure he wanted to hear the answer, and a little afraid he already knew. 

“I should have been allowed to die.” Loki said succinctly. 

“But why?” Steve asked, appalled. “I thought-- you said Death had helped--” 

“Yes.” Loki told him impatiently. “I thought she had, I thought that she was taking me away, and solving the problem. But you and Thor ruined it.” 

“I don’t understand.” Steve told him bluntly. “You can walk, you have your life back, why would you be so fixated on death now?” 

“It was promised to me!” Loki hissed hotly. “Thanos promised, throughout my torture. Odin reminded me it was the only thing I was owed, a promise made to me as a babe and not kept then. Look at me, Captain. I was using all of you, manipulating all of you. It comes as naturally as breathing. Gr--Bucky will not speak to me, will not so much as look too long in my direction. I tried to be good, I tried to do things you would approve of, and just as every time, I have ruined everything in my attempts. Sin-- As I was thrown from her, I saw who she had been, the things she has done. Every person she harms now will be my fault, my responsibility. And even if we catch her… what will become of me? I cannot exist on Midgard. I am hated by any who know me. I cannot return-- will not return to Asgard, even if I were allowed. Where am I to be hidden next? A cell in SHIELD’s holding? Another little house, with higher security? No. Everyone would have been better if I had been left as I was. If I had been allowed to die.” 

Steve was aghast. 

“Bucky is adjusting. Weren’t you the one who said that he would need time for that, back when you first started helping him, started talking to him?” 

“I said he needed time to come to know himself. He has all of his memories now, and yes, though he must create some form of justification… I do not see why he loathes me. I gave him only what he wanted, what he stole the scepter for, what he asked me to do. I did not mean to wrong him. But I suppose he has you back now. So why should he need--” Loki stopped himself, his shoulders hunched forward. 

“Even when I kept pushing to be his friend, when he didn’t remember me, there was room for us both. You’re the whole reason he even started talking to me. And you’re often the only thing we had in common to talk about. It’s a change, a shift, yes, but…” 

“But he has no need of someone broken, when he is whole again. I do not wish him ill, Captain. I just feel that I am a burden on him. And I am to serve as a wedge between you. He wants to flee here, to strike out on his own rather than spend time with me-- and by binding me to your side you will only push him away, which is not what you want. You have cared for him through all of his ills, as he once did for you. Do not sacrifice that friendship for me.” 

“What… happened between you?” Steve asked. “What changed?” He didn’t know how to fix this-- if he even could. 

“I left him alone. I took the sceptre and let him doubt. He had never been away from me, between my giving him a name and helping him find himself, and him asking me to bespell him. I needed him to have that time, that distance. I pushed him away, so that he could have a clear mind when he made his choices about me. And it seems… he saw rationally.” Loki looked down into his lap. 

“I do not blame him, Captain. I merely do not understand why you do not follow suit.”

This meek, calm, accepting Loki was what made Steve second guess everything. 

“Look, whatever’s wrong-- let’s take care of it, okay? You didn’t die, there are people who are glad about that. I- I’m glad about that. I just want you to be, too. As long as you’re alive, you can always bounce back. There is always the chance of redemption.” 

“Let me explain to you, Captain, the fundamental understanding that you are missing now. Redemption requires me to be capable of doing good. But as my torturers showed me, I am not. As even my most recent actions have proven-- I try to do good, and I unleash Sin upon your world. And Bucky… Bucky hates me for restoring his memories, it seems. And even if he didn’t, who will ever trust him now? He has been the Winter Soldier, he has had me inside of his mind. And who will believe both are not still controlling him?” Loki asked archly. “No, better than I not attempt good. Only evil springs from the attempt of it.”

“That’s defeatist bullshit. I never really saw you as one to give up.” Steve fired back, angry and scared and uncomfortable with both emotions, leveled at Loki as they were, caused by him and his quiet and his numbness. 

He watched Loki draw into himself, watched him become offended, and thought good. 

“I am entitled to my bitterness, entitled to my defeat.” Loki said. “I have suffered to earn that right.” 

“Is that what you want? Really? Is that the only plan you have for your future? To die?” Steve felt nothing but horror now. But he sounded angry. 

“What do you want from me, Rogers? What is it you expect me to do? You cannot decide whether I should be an invalid who needs help down a hallway or some sort of weapon for you to level at your enemies. I am neither! I am nothing. No, less, I am a monster and you know damn well that that is true. So leave me, let me do what needs done--” Loki’s words went from plaintive to heated, and Steve could see the change in his face, too, as the quiet stubbornness was overtaken by his frustration. 

But the words themselves made Steve realize something, something he had suspected, but not known. Not until now. It was one thing to accept your death. It was another to actively plan to cause it. 

“I am not going to let you kill yourself, Loki. You may think--” he broke off, unsure how to properly address all of Loki’s concerns. “Look, I get it, okay? You messed up, you’re scared. Well, we all fucked up. We all made mistakes, in this, the blame doesn’t fall only on you. But if you kill yourself now? That blame lays on me.”

“I am not scared, Captain.” Loki spat, standing now. “And why should you be responsible for me? Have you not done your part? You have seen me returned to health. You have seen my rehabilitation attempted and failed. You have done all you could for me, and that cleanses your hands of guilt.” 

“Yeah? And how about you? You’ve done good things too, you’ve helped people too. What makes you and I different right now is that I don’t let it stop me, I don’t just give up. I keep trying to do good. You asked me what I want from you? That’s it. Do good. Not just for yourself, by not hurting yourself, but for everyone else, too. Help me track down Sin, help me neutralize the threat of her with your sceptre. You said you can’t do good, you said it fails. I can though, I can do good and I’m good at it. So just help me. We’ll see whose ‘fate’ is stronger.”

Loki stared at him, silenced by the force of his words, and Steve was so afraid he’d misstepped. He felt his eyes darting around, trying to decide what Loki was going to make a dash for-- the window, maybe-- but then Loki spoke and Steve held his breath. 

“Speak to your superiors, Captain Rogers. If you can get them to agree…” He shrugged, and seated himself again. 

Steve let out this breath. 

“Thank you Loki. Will-- Will you promise you won’t do anything… anything lethal, without talking to me first?” 

Steve asked, and Loki nodded, opening his mouth until his eyes darted to the doorway. 

Bucky was standing there, his face so grim that Steve was worried something had tripped him back into full on Winter Soldier mode. 

Behind him, Sam looked shaky and confused. 

“Why is your voice in my head telling me to kill myself?” Bucky asked, not even acknowledging Steve. His eyes burned furiously into Loki’s, and Steve was aghast. Loki flinched and looked down at his lap, fingers tightening around one another. But he stayed silent.

“Loki.” Bucky said, his voice a warning. “What did you do?” 

“I told you. I warned you this would happen-- that our minds would be linked, that--” Loki’s words broke off when Bucky strode forward and grabbed hold of him roughly. 

Even as Steve stepped forward to put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, he was able to marvel at how Loki didn’t raise his hands, not in fear or to fight. He really was ready for whatever came for him. 

“So what? So you’re telling me every time you feel like you should kill yourself, I’m going to hear it? Everytime you think what a monster you are, you’re gonna be echoing in my head? Because it sounds to me like you’re calling me that. Telling me to kill myself.” Bucky was growling his words out now, and Sam and Steve could only trade a worried look, until Bucky crushed Loki to his chest in what was possibly the most violent hug Steve had seen lately. 

“I’m sorry.” Loki said, somewhere between surprised and pitiful. “I didn’t want this, you know I didn’t.”

“I know.” Bucky told him, still gruff. “That doesn’t change it though. You can’t want to die, I can’t deal with that in my head.”

Steve didn’t know how he should feel-- angry for Loki inflicting that on Bucky, concerned for Loki, with Bucky holding onto him after just discovering… Jealous, because the both of them still needed one another no matter what Loki said or Steve did to try and make things easier.

He had been confused before, concerned by how he didn’t understand their relationship-- things, he thought, were about to get so much worse. 

“So are you saying that the two of you have some sort of non-verbal communication gig going on?” Sam asked, and Loki, peering out from under Bucky’s arm, managed a muffled “No,” only to be overlapped by Bucky’s, “I guess.” 

Buck let him go, and took a step back, his hands on his hips. 

Loki looked away, and Steve frowned, looking back and forth between them.

“Well, which is it?” He asked a little sharper than he’d intended. 

Bucky glared at him, and that brought him down instantly. But it was Loki who spoke. 

“I do not have my powers to stifle the connection. Before-- before I could control it, save when my control slipped… like when Barton heard me-- when Barton heard my screams. This though… it appears it is much less filtered.”

“Well, I don’t get anything when you’re just sitting there, so I dunno, maybe it’s just you being upset.” Bucky said, crossing his arms and shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “What uh, what about me? You hear anything from me?” He asked, and while he didn’t sound vulnerable exactly, Steve could hear the caution in his voice. 

“Not until just now.” Loki said, and the look he gave Bucky was startled, like he’d heard something he hadn’t expected to. 

Bucky didn’t seem to have anything else to say, shouldering past Sam and into the hall. 

Steve looked to Loki, who just gestured after him. 

A moment later, the front door slammed closed.

“We’re good. Go catch your buddy.” Sam told him, and though Steve saw the wary glare that Sam levelled at Loki, he had to prioritize. 

He chased Bucky before he could disappear again.

He couldn’t help but think, though it was horrible that he did, as he followed Bucky’s hunched shoulders down the sidewalk, resisting the urge to call out for him and draw attention, that he was almost relieved at the idea of them all splitting up to go their own ways. 

He’d only had Bucky and Loki together under his roof for a single day, and he already felt spread painfully thin, unable to help all the people he needed to at once.

When he caught up to him, he didn’t touch him, reach out and grab his shoulder the way he wanted to. He just fell into step next to him with his head down to keep from attracting stares. 

Bucky was the one who moved first, intentionally leaning into him while he walked. 

“It’s not you, you know that right? I’m not running from you.” Bucky’s words were soft and kind, but rough around the edges, the same way they’d grown up. 

“So what’cha running from? Let me help, Buck. I want to, now I can.” 

“Can you?” Bucky challenged, and suddenly he sounded like the winter soldier all over again. “Look, you have your secrets, same as everybody else, right? Stuff I don’t know about. And that’s fine. I have those, but I have three peoples’ worth of them in my head. Buckys, The Soldier’s, and Loki’s. And Loki’s seen all of mine. It’s hard talking to people, once they see you all naked and vulnerable like.” 

“I’ve seen you naked Buck, c’mon.” Steve said, trying for playful but falling flat. “But that’s it, then? No big blow up, no crazy betrayal… you’re pushing him away because he knows what you did?”

“It’s enough. Trust me.” Bucky said, and his eyes squeezed shut. 

“I’m not saying it isn’t.” Steve responded simply. “I just wanted to make sure that I wasn’t supposed-- didn’t need to hate him for what he did to you.” 

“Don’t hate him.” Bucky said, more feeling in those three words than had been in the rest of their conversation as a whole. “For me, do that. Don’t hate him.” 

Steve stared, still not sure how Bucky worked now, how Loki and he worked put together. 

“Alright, yeah. I don’t want to hate him, anyway. What about you, though, what are you gonna do?” He meant in regards to Loki being in Bucky’s head. 

“I’m gonna do what I said; talk to Rivera, figure out where she stands in all of this. And if she’s as fucked as I think, I’m gonna kill her.” Hearing that come from Bucky’s lips, calm and serious, made a shiver go down Steve’s spine. 

“Buck…” He said, somewhere between a warning and a whine. 

“No, Stevie. If anyone deserves to do that, it’s me. She used me to hurt someone else. I am gonna go after her, make the call, and then every single living Hydra asshole who ever gave me an order is gonna be next. And you aren’t gonna try and argue right and wrong with me on this.”

Steve closed his mouth with a snap. 

“Is this gonna help you sleep better at night, Bucky?” He asked, uncomfortable with the thought of how many people around him were willing to kill, how many of those closest to him found it easy to do so. 

“You know what?” Bucky replied, a slow, predatory grin spreading over his face. “I really think it will, yeah.”

And what could Steve possibly say to that?


	14. Fourteen

“ So I hear you’re going to be partnering up with Captain America to track down this problem you made.” 

The voice on the other end of the line was changed by the device, but still recognizable. 

“ Director Fury, I’m honored, I am sure. I take it Thor spoke to you, then.” 

“ I was told in no uncertain terms that you were no longer punishable for past crimes by us. Congratulations, you’re a free man. Fuck up and you won’t ever see the light of day again, I promise you that.” 

Rogers looked on, concerned but, it seemed, unable to hear what was being said. Loki smiled. 

“ Yes, Director, I understand. For the record, however, the problem was there, I merely exacerbated it.” 

“ Let the record show I don’t give a damn. You undid our solution to the problem, you let her escape, and you armed her with one of the stronger weapons currently available to anyone anywhere. The semantics of who made the problem first don’t interest me. Getting Sin back under our control  _ does _ . Now, I’m gonna need to have you come in, get you outfitted. I might not have much choice about sending you out there, but I can at least make sure that if you get hurt, I can say we did everything in our power to stop that happening. And that means training, equipment, and uniform. Hand me off to the Captain now so I can tell him the same thing.” 

Loki, bemused, held the receiver up for Steve to take from him. 

“ Yes sir?” He asked.

Loki watched his face flicker though emotions-- indignance: “Look--”, annoyance: “I don’t see why--”, chastisement and the silence it brought, and finally, “Yes sir. We’ll be there before six.” Acceptance. 

“ I wonder what training they think they will have to offer me.” Loki commented brightly, partially because after all of the Captain’s unpleasant moods, it would be a spot of unexpected brightness in contrast, distancing himself from being the cause… and also because he thought it would likely annoy him further. 

“ Non lethal force, maybe? Gun use? Ways of fighting that don’t involve relying on the magic you don’t have?” Rogers was a little snide in his delivery, and that surprised Loki into silence. 

Clearly, though, the good Captain misread his lack of words. 

“ I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to--” He huffed out a breath and stood from the chair. 

Sam had gone home, Thor back to Asgard, and Bucky to… who knows where. Which left him alone with the man shouldering the burden of responsibility for him. 

And he was making life as difficult for him as possible, at the moment. 

He knew it was awful of him, but he didn’t much care. 

“ Ah, so you haven’t told Fury of my will to die.” He said it casually. “He would not be so interested in arming me, otherwise.”

Steve’s head snapped back around to stare at him, horrified. 

“ You said we would talk before you did anything.” 

“ We are talking now.” Loki pointed out. “I am not threatening to kill myself, however. I am merely surprised you haven’t alerted your superiors to my mental state. Or are you afraid they would label me too unstable to be allowed to join you?”

“ They still might.” Steve told him, frank and direct, but not unkind. “I’m sure part of the reason we’re going in is so that they can do a psych eval on you. Though what they’ll do if you fail, I’m not really sure.” And that seemed to trouble him. 

“ I can assure you, whatever they might, I hardly care.” He told him, voice cool and placid. 

“ You aren’t helping, Loki.” Steve told him shortly, and he could only smile. 

“ And you are trying too hard to help, Captain. A truce, then? I will go with you to SHIELD, I will pass their tests and learn their teachings, I will help you to find Sin. And you will give the sceptre to me, and with it, I will find my own way. I will disappear, and your world will be free of both myself and the weapon. What do you say?”

“ What do I say?” He asked, his words disbelieving and offended. “I say you’re an idiot. You think that’s what I want? You think that’s all I’m concerned with?” 

Loki could hear Steve’s frustration and he almost flinched at the ferocity of it. 

“You think all I’m interested in is getting you out of my hair?” He seemed to have done it now, and the way Rogers had rounded on him-- 

“ Are we just not going to talk about what happened that day? About how I argued with Death over you? That’s who that was, right? Death? I yelled at Death because I didn’t want to lose you and--” Rogers’ mouth snapped shut and his eyes bulged a little before he swallowed, the click of it audible even from where he sat. 

Loki was stricken.

“ Why Captain, I didn’t know you cared.” He murmured. 

It seemed it was the exact wrong thing to say. Rogers abruptly beelined for the hallway. 

He turned back at the last minute. 

“ You.” He pointed an angry finger at Loki. “Stay here. Don’t do anything stupid, don’t leave the apartment, no blood, no tears, and don’t send Bucky any non-verbal instructions. I just need some time to-- I need some time.” 

He sounded so harried, Loki couldn’t help but let his guard fall. He nodded, feeling himself drawing inwards.   
Steve had always been kind, always tried to help. He was behaving badly, treating him horribly-- and why? Because he’d realized, at the absolute last minutes of his life, that he mattered? But that was ridiculous, you don’t beat someone for being kind, you don’t--

Well. 

Loki did. 

Good people didn’t, but Loki did. 

And as he had done countless times since arriving here, he had driven the Captain, his primary-- and now, sole defender, away. 

Loki sat at the table, his hands laced, and waited for Rogers to emerge, unsure what he should and shouldn’t touch, what he could and couldn’t do without violating the Captain’s orders. 

He emerged eventually, having showered and changed apparently, which was for the best. Loki was sure that beneath the clothing he’d thrown on hurriedly, his skin had still been tacky with Loki’s blood. Better that it be forgotten as soon as possible. 

Neither of them needed the visual or tactile reminder of Loki’s most recent failure to be a good person. 

But then, maybe that was his problem; the assumption that he  _ was _ a person. The pretense of it, when he knew better. He wasn’t anything. He’d been too undone for that.

So instead Loki sat, calmly and quietly in the Captain’s kitchen chair, and held himself as still as possible while he thought. 

He truly had no options. He was now longer lived, again. He could finish out his days here, if only he were not so recognizable, if only none knew him. Perhaps the humans had ways of changing faces, perhaps if he scarred himself somehow, it would be enough that he would pass for someone else. Though, he did not suppose that was the best way to fit in. It would seem that approach might make him stand out further. And he could fight, but as Fury said-- it would take but one wrong move, one human killed in self defense, and he would be lost. If, as Rogers pointed out, he was even capable of defending himself without his magic.

This was not to bring to bear the concern of how he might find employment or learn to support himself, being not only unskilled but also undocumented. If he were to run from SHIELD’s caring grasp, he would cease to exist, according to this world’s laws and customs. And thus he would have to take the lowliest jobs possible, and pray that none noticed his failure to age on their scale. He could move every few years, and work the remainder of his life with his hands. He could muck stables. He could learn simple tasks, things that would draw no attention to him. But that would be as good as being dead, as good as not existing at all, for what form of existence was that?

So he needed Rogers, needed to play by his rules and work with him, take what he was given and say thank you for it, no matter how he might resent them. But his resentment made so little sense, particularly in regards to the Captain. He had unbound him, seen him treated and healed and brought to a place where he might have, had things gone to plan, learned how to integrate himself into society. When Loki had disappeared, Rogers had gone to Thor and convinced him of his wrongs, talked him into coming. And so it was at least partially his fault that Loki was as restored now as he was, the apple and his own life gifts from both the Odinson and the Captain. 

And Loki was being petty, morose, and morbid. Anyone else would be grateful for what Rogers had done for them, but of course he couldn’t be. Perhaps creatures, monsters such as he, did not have the capacity for such emotions. It would not have surprised him. 

Thus chastised, he sat and tried to think of when else he ought to have shown gratitude, of how long he had allowed that portion of his compassion to slip away from him. 

  
  
  


Steve emerged at last, clearly having showered, his wet hair a testament to his activities. He seemed calmer, now, as well, but wary, as though he suspected Loki would not be. He stepped out of his room and closed the door slowly and carefully, then stopped, perhaps to gather himself before stepping forward into the room at an almost hurried gait. 

However when he found Loki sitting at the table, drawn inwards, small and lost looking, he seemed to lose steam. Loki sat up and squared his shoulders, snapping into at the very least the appearance of being okay.

“I want to apologize--”

“ You should probably shower--” 

They spoke in tandem and Rogers scoffed before gesturing at Loki. 

“ You go ahead.” 

“ Do I smell that poorly?” He asked sardonically, then shook his head. “No, sorry. I wished to apologize; I have… been less than helpful, less than cooperative.” He sounded demure enough that he did not think that he could cause offense, and somber enough to be taken seriously, but still the Captain sighed and sat down opposite Loki, the table between them.

“ Look, I know I’ve been… a little unsure, a little...It’s been hard, trying to figure out how to deal with all this, and I know I’ve been short tempered. And I know things have changed, but...we trusted one another. I know that… what happened in the recovery house, it wasn’t what I thought it was when I had you put in their care, and I am so sorry for that.” And he did sound sorry. “I can’t blame you if you hate me for it.” He said, and Loki could hear him trying to force emotions out of his voice. He didn’t quite succeed, his words gone thin and reedy. The idea that Loki might hate him clearly hurt him, worried him. 

The cruel side of Loki, the side he had given permission to reign since he woke up again, wanted to throw it in his face, to take this admission, this show of vulnerability, and use it against him.

But there was a part of him that remembered Rogers, a week after he’d been in the home, come straight from a mission and not yet having slept, sitting in the chair in Loki’s room and crying out of frustration, because though he had tried to help, no choice he made seemed to be right for Loki. 

It felt to him like that same side of the man lay close to the surface now. And he had bowed to it then, let the Captain’s pain dictate to him how to behave, at least for a time. And good had come of that; he’d been able to move onwards, to grow relationships and take his physical therapy, to learn to walk again.

So maybe it was best that he listen to what that part of him was demanding. It had served him well before.

“ I do not hate you.” He said, speaking carefully. “I have not yet decided whether I can  _ not _ hate Thor, but you-- I know you have done your utmost to aid me, ever since I arrived here. And I appreciate that, though I know I have done a terrible job of showing it.”

Rogers chortled, lowered his head as if to nod, then caught himself. 

“ No, you-- uh--”

“Don’t lie to me.” Loki told him lightly, the hint of threat there just the same. He huffed out a breath and tried a different tack.

“ I imagine, with the change in things, we should have a discussion. About expectations, about plans. But I also expect that we haven’t the time before we’re to meet Fury and his team. So perhaps you could brief me on what you think will be expected of me today.”

He could see Steve thinking before he spoke, and again had to marvel that this man and Thor could be friends. They were so unalike. 

“I can’t really say for sure, but I have a feeling they’ll want to find out exactly how strong you are, physically. They’ll need to take some measurements of things like your heart rate and blood type… stuff so, if you get injured again, we can help out, now that you’re all healed up and everything in your body is the way it needs to be.” 

Loki could hear the concern underlying the Captain’s words, though. 

“ All of which are things they could just as easily use against me. So my allowing this would be seen as a sign of trust, a… guarantee, if you will. Partially of my cooperation, and partially for your safety.”

“ I think you have to tell them that’s what it is, otherwise they will just assume they’re smarter than you, and you don’t realize what you’re giving them. They do that.” He sounded almost apologetic, and Loki wanted to scowl, but it didn’t matter enough to him that he would bother. 

“ Fine. And Fury mentioned something of outfitting me?” He pressed. 

“The armor that our people wear to minimize damage. I know as much as you don’t want to be, you’re pretty much a human now, and we have to do what we can to keep your body from going through any more injuries and hurts.” Rogers’ face took on an odd expression, and Loki had a feeling that he was remembering seeing Loki bleeding out. It made him clear his throat. 

“ Right.” He sighed. “So there will be SHIELD agents either close to me or touching me. No wonder you thought I ought to shower.” He tried to make light of it, but his outlook was dark.

Even Nico and the other nurses and handlers at NEST had been a strain on what he would allow, and he had only done so because they were actively helping him. Then he had had nothing left to lose, and only his health to gain, and he’d been enough of an invalid to play on both their sympathies and the Captain’s protective nature. 

Now though… now he was whole for the time being. He had his years. He had, however temporarily, his freedom, and as long as he behaved and appeared cooperative, he would have a chance to reclaim the sceptre and be sure that he kept all of the above. He had only to bear these latest indignities and keep the Captain pacified. 

But if he entrusted himself to these unknowns, these Agents, what might they do? If they provoked him and someone was injured, as Fury said, he would never see the light of day again. He had no magic, only his strength, which, while considerable against a human, could still be overcome. 

He wondered what the likelihood was of this being merely an excuse to detain him, to lock him away. 

And so, once again, he had to appeal to Captain Rogers. 

“ Captain? You do not suppose this is merely a feint to attempt to get me to… react to something, some stimuli, poorly, do you? I only mean.” He hesitated, hoping to seem more uncertain than he was. “If there are enough of them, and someone claims I have lashed out, or not cooperated, it would take so little for this to turn to my being bound by your SHIELD, and nothing I could do or say to talk myself out of it or save myself. I do not want that.” He exhaled hard. “Damn, but I am  _ tired _ of being helpless.” He stood abruptly and took short strides around the table. 

“ Do you really mistrust us-- me-- that much?” Rogers asked, as if it surprised him. Loki felt a sharp laugh prise its way through his lips.

“What reason have I to trust them?” He asked. “You, you I trust. I have had to, and you have given me no reason to believe you anything but honorable. However.” Loki tried not to shrink in on himself again. “From their point of view, it is no doubt that I am a problem that would be best dealt with by being locked away and forgotten… or completely removed, whichever came first. Look at all I have done to your world, to the people on it. All of the various horrors I have unleashed. Even Grima, Bucky, the person I wanted to protect the most, you have seen now what I have done to him. And they will hold all of this against me.” 

“ If you’re afraid they’re going to use this as an excuse to hurt you or claim you hurt someone else, you don’t need to worry. I’ll stay with you the whole time. But I need you to try and remember, Loki: we’re the good guys, it’s pretty much what we do. And yeah, you found a little bad pocket, but I can guarantee, that’s… less common than you think.” He didn’t sound at all certain.

Loki very much doubted it. Rogers was naive and optimistic and most likely wrong, but that was an argument he would save for later. 

“ If you will stay with me, then I will be easier about it, yes. I suppose if you really do not know what they want of me in specifics, though, it would be best that I shower as you suggested, and we go and have done with it.”

“ Yeah, alright. Come this way, let me get you set up.” The Captain agreed readily, and gestured before him. 

Loki followed Rogers back to his room, through it, and into the bathroom, where the man excused himself and then returned with a towel. He demonstrated the hot and cold water functions, the soaps, and the fan that was meant to suck some of the heat and humidity out of the room, and once he was done with that, he looked around, obviously checking to see if he had missed anything. 

Loki saw him hesitate, then remove from his counter the blade that he clearly used for shaving.

So for all of Rogers’ upset at Loki not trusting his word, he didn’t trust Loki’s either. That was probably for the best, Loki thought. That way, if he had to betray the Captain, it would not come as a surprise. 

Washed, dried, and wearing a set of the soldier’s too-large clothes, Loki followed Rogers downstairs and into the black SUV that waited for them there. 

He stayed silent on the drive, though the Captain was busily engaging the driver and armed guard beside him, and tried to include Loki in the conversation. He was having no part of it.

Once out of the car, Loki was forced to ignore the detail of men around him, aiming their guns at him. It seemed utterly unnecessary, given that he was unarmed and lacking in powers. He would have expected that they insist on binding his wrists again, rather than placing so many men on duty, but he supposed, given the tightening of Rogers’s jaw, he should be grateful. Nothing he did or said would win back the Captain’s confidence in him quite so effectively as what he saw as an overt show of force against him. 

Poor Captain. If Loki was to work with him, the first thing he needed to teach him was not to confuse pity with trust. It was no doubt a lesson that would serve him well, once Loki was gone.

They marched him into an elevator and he watched the way Rogers’s jaw tightened when one man prodded at him with the butt of his gun, directing him further from the panel of buttons. 

This felt terrible, and Loki’s pulse was thundering so fast that he was certain that they could all see the blood making the skin of his neck jump and flutter. It was handing himself over to those who were openly hostile. 

He did not mind the idea of dying, but this was not how he would choose it.  This would be messy and harsh and-- 

sensation slid through him, a second hand experience of pain, and he knew that Bucky had heard him-- and was telling him to shut up. By hurting himself. 

Loki snuck a glance at Rogers, who was watching him closely. 

He was going to be furious when he found out-- if he found out. 

Loki pinched himself, hard, hoping that would go through, would communicate that he heard and understood. He couldn’t do anything more just at the moment. 

The doors chimed and opened, and the guards between him and the exit stepped out then quickly moved to flank the way-- they expected him to take off in a mad dash down one of the halls. 

The only option was for him to walk forward toward the door directly before him, and Rogers walked at his side, while one of the men broke ranks to pull it open. 

Within, the room was stripped as bare as they could get it, he supposed. The floor was as blank and barren as the walls, as if they thought he could somehow weaponize even the carpet. 

There was an empty table and a man or woman in white to bear each of the instruments they intended to use on him; they were clearly taking no chances. Loki eyed them, wary. All of this seemed wrong; terrifying and awful. 

“ What the hell is this?” Rogers demanded, when they had come to a halt in the doorway. 

“ It’s a few tests, just like we said.” Fury spoke smoothly from behind them, and while Rogers had the freedom to turn and look, Loki held himself still, lest his movement be misread as antagonizing, as threatening. He kept himself from moving and kept his eyes down. He could hear two pairs of footsteps, though, which meant that Fury was not alone.

“ This looks like some kind of torture room. I’ve seen HYDRA clinics look more welcoming.” The Captain was angry, that was clear in his voice, and Loki could all but imagine the expression on his face. 

“ Loki, do you have any problem with us testing you for our records?” Fury asked, ignoring Rogers entirely, and Loki winced, then squared himself up and turned to stand his ground. 

“ I would rather you didn’t, but I understand why you wish to. So, in the interest of treating this as an act of goodwill, I will cooperate. On the condition that Rogers is ordered to remain in the room. That is my sole demand.” He set his jaw and did not look to Rogers, because he was certain the man’s face would betray the feelings that Loki was so good at keeping hidden on his own. 

“ Agent Hill, arrange a chair for Captain Rogers.” Fury said, at length, and Loki let out his breath while Hill-- the other person who had come in with Fury, apparently, snapped off a “Sir.” and went to it.

Smart man, Fury; if Rogers remained, he would no doubt loom and be tense. Seating him would put him out of the doctors and scientists’ lines of sight, make him less intimidating and less distracting. 

Loki stood with his hands at his sides, unwilling to even allow himself to make fists of them, in the interest of appearing as harmless as possible. 

Rogers sat, though begrudgingly, and Fury had the doors sealed while he took up post between them and Loki. 

“ I appreciate that you are the sort of man to make yourself an obstacle between myself and those under your command, but you really needn’t worry, Director.” Loki said, speaking frankly but in a tone so silky that he was certain SHIELD would be analyzing it for ages, trying to find the lie. “I have already given the Captain my word that I would cooperate. I have no intention of betraying that promise.” 

“ Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” Fury asked. 

Loki shrugged and raised his brow at the first of the white clad workers to step forward, a woman who seemed to be all but quailing in her boots. Still, she came first; it had to count for something. 

“ We just want to start by taking your blood pressure. Nothing complicated. This cuff will go around your arm, and I will inflate it with air using this bulb,” She held up the pieces to demonstrate, “And it will tighten, squeeze a little, but no damage will be done, and the dial here will give us a measurement. Just for our records.” She spoke in a voice that had seen many bedsides, and the fact that she talked him through it ahead of time made him pleased that it had been she who stepped up first. 

“ You may put your cuff on me.” He allowed, and sent a quick look in Rogers’ direction, just to be sure it was the correct decision. Rogers nodded once slowly, but Loki could also tell that it had not escaped Fury’s attentions. Though he remained silent, his brow rose. Loki wondered what the man made of the exchange. 

When his blood pressure had been measured and recorded, the next doctor explained that he intended to draw blood, and Loki merely nodded, amused when one needle after another bent upon his skin. 

Finally, he had to offer to let them to use a scalpel, that they might open a small cut in his skin and gather what they needed from there. It was not as good of a supply, he realized, but it would do for their purposes. 

He moved around when asked, answered questions with yeses and nos, and as soon as the last of the white clad people had finished with him, he turned to face Fury. 

“ Alright, we’re done here. Thank you for your cooperation.” Something about the way that he spoke the words made Loki feel ill at ease; as though he had passed some test, but only just barely. 

Rogers, too, had frown lines on his face that said he felt the same way, but he held his silence. There was nothing overly threatening about that. 

“ This way please, gentlemen.” Fury led them back through the doors and down the corridor to their left, the guards falling into step around them. 

Loki glanced again at Steve, less for guidance and more to judge his feelings on what was happening. Loki had felt very little like himself, since dying, and he felt a good deal less like himself now, behaving so very like a sheep. 

He did not, however, intend to allow himself to be led to the slaughter. Rogers, with his inability to hide anything, would be his first clue to if that was going to happen. 

“ Now, we’re going to be treating you as a special agent, not one of our usual, but out in the field just the same. Which means we’re gonna have you go through all the same tests a real Agent would.” 

“ That’ll take days.” Captain Rogers said sharply. “I don’t know about you but I don’t want to put that kind of time between Sin and us. She’s already got enough of a head start as it is.”

By which, of course, Rogers meant that Loki had already cost them enough time. He would be inclined to agree. He’d also be inclined to feel guilty about it, if it weren’t for the fact that they were only making it worse by  

“ Yeah, but we need to have some means of telling-- one that he’s not going to to get you killed and two, he isn’t going to turn around and kill you.” Hill spoke to Rogers of him as if he were not there.

Loki bristled at that. 

“ The Captain has my word and my gratitude for all he has done for me. Surely--” 

“ Surely you don’t expect us to take your word for it?” Fury fired back, and Loki’s mouth snapped shut, reminded again that he was not on Asgard where honor counted for as much as, if not more than, gold. 

Not that his word was worth any more there than a single copper, and worth considerably less, here.

“ What do you suggest, then? Because if you ask him to run your course and do your psych evals, it’ll be a week before we can get on the road.” Rogers’s jaw was set, his words tight between his teeth. 

“ It’s your neck on the line, Rogers, you who has to deal with him. You said you think he’s solid enough to go, fine. We’ll outfit the two of you, give you the means, but you won’t get any men to endanger unless he goes through all of our tests and passes with flying colors.”

“ Without being trained for them.” The Captain’s voice was so flat that his challenge did not even seem to be a question. 

“ I don’t see much alternative. Do you?” 

“ You want proof he’s not going to break my neck at the first chance? You want some idea of how strong he is? Fine. I don’t think we need any additional men, and I certainly wouldn’t want you to think I would wilfully  _ endanger _ anyone.” Rogers’s sarcasm almost made Loki smile, but even if he had, what came next would have wiped that away. “Let me fight him. Let him spar against me and demonstrate what he can do.” 

Loki’s mouth fell open. 

“ Captain, I--” 

“ Fine.” Fury interrupted, smooth and decisive, and Loki stopped speaking. He agreed so quickly that Loki could not help but think that maybe that was what he had been after in the first place. 

But Loki would not allow himself to be so easily dictated to. 

“Do you really think this wise? If I do not fight to the best of my ability, I will be accused of attempting to withhold the truth of my strength, in an attempt to be underestimated. If I fight as best I can, there is the risk of not only injury for you, but that my tries at besting you be interpreted as an attempt upon your life, and I fear that with as many men as are around us now who are armed, I would not survive such an accusation… and moreover, you may be caught in the crossfire.” 

Two could play the game of speaking to Rogers as if they were alone with him. 

“ It seems ill advised, no matter how I consider it. And atop all of that, I have no wish to fight you. As I said, I am grateful, to you.” He turned to fully face Rogers, hoping that the pleading he was doing with his eyes would make up for the calm he forced into his words. 

Nothing about this felt safe, or controlled, or even anything like what he had expected. He thought he would be tested with machines, or with questioning-- not with a fight. And especially not one against the man who, thus far, had done his utmost to protect him. 

“ I know you don’t like it. Neither do I. But it’s a good way for them to gauge your abilities-- they’ve already measured mine over and over again, so it will give a good benchmark comparison, and get us out of here and on Sin’s trail faster. I know you’re worried, but we’ll be careful, okay, you and I, and no one will have any reason to doubt.” The Captain’s eyes flicked to Fury, over Loki’s shoulder. “Or intervene.” He said, voice sharpened into a warning. 

And Loki was stuck, because he could not use the excuses he just had and make it seem as though he did not trust Rogers by continuing to question him. They had to show a united front, regardless of the rift that had developed, the work that Loki had undone by disappearing the way he had. 

He bowed his head, a very visible submission on his part to the Captain’s will. 

“ If you think it best,” he murmured, though he knew that Fury could hear as well, “I want it on record that I do not like it-- but I will fight with you.” 

“I’ll have the gym on this level cleared out.” Hill said, sounding either smug or pleased; Loki did not know her well enough to guess. 

“ How long will that take?” Rogers asked. 

“ Not more than… say ten minutes? I’ll get some mats put out, too.” Hill told him, and Loki watched as Rogers gave a sharp nod. 

He turned then, slowly so that no one would think it an attack, and angled himself so that he could see both Fury and Rogers. 

“ So what form of sparring is this to be?” He asked after a moment’s hesitation. 

“ Unarmed.” Director Fury supplied. “Hand to hand, I just want to see how you work against one another.”

That left a good deal available, and answered very few questions. 

“ We’ve fought before-- remember in Germany?” The Captain prompted. It felt like a lifetime ago, but he did remember. 

“ I had my power, then, I could heal myself. And I was armed.” Loki pointed out, glancing at Fury to see if he looked glad of this change. His face was impassive. 

“ Well, the whole point of it is to know what you’re capable of now, so. Just pretend that this is like then. You weren’t actually trying to kill me then, either, were you-- you needed to get us to bring you to Bruce, right? So… just do that now. Don’t kill me, obviously, if you get the opportunity. But even if you knock me around a bit, I’ll heal up pretty fast. Faster than you, these days.” The Captain added as an after thought. 

“ Yes, that was part of my concern. I do not want your people believing that I am actually attempting to kill you, and harming or killing me as a result. And I do not want you to think that because I have regained my strength I have also regained my own abilities to heal. If you do not wish to be held up for a week, you certainly would not like to be held up for however long it takes to mend broken bones.” 

Fury actually laughed at that, and Loki shot him a dirty look. 

“ Afraid of getting a little banged up?” Fury asked him, and Loki scowled, trying to find something pithy to say, but Rogers interrupted. 

“ It’s a valid concern, given that he’s unused to the limitations of this form of his body.” He was clearly chastising his superior, and Loki had to mask his smugness at that. “Don’t worry though; I spar against normal…. unmodified humans… all the time. I won’t let any real harm come to you.” 

“ No one is asking for bloodshed.” The Director agreed. “I just want to match you in speed and strength and control. Get a picture of how you work, what you can do now that you  _ are  _ in a different state than we’ve ever seen you in. It’ll give our guys a better idea of how to equip you, too.” 

Loki’s scowl remained in place, but when Hill reappeared, he followed her into the hall, Rogers and Fury and the guard detail in tow. 

He did not anticipate this ending in anything but pain for himself, and he could not make himself look forward to it at all. But he did want to have done with it.

“ Maybe, let’s take off our shoes?” Rogers offered the suggestion hesitantly, and Loki saw how the hardened rubber might damage his flesh, and nodded. 

“ There’s a changing room through there. We have tanks and bottoms for you that will be better suited for physical activity.” Hill nodded. 

Rogers started in the direction of the door, then paused. 

“ Loki’s going to come with me, and we’re not going to have a bunch of guards with us. If you can trust he and I to fight, and I can trust him enough to sleep in the same room as him, you can deal with us being gone so he can change in privacy.” Loki saw his jaw thrust forward in that way that said it was no use arguing with him, and he was secretly overjoyed. 

Director Fury on the other hand, looked less than thrilled. 

“ You’ve got three minutes, and then we will take down the door if need be.” 

Loki shuddered but hurried forward, loathe to lose time when so little had been assigned to the task.

The small amount of time also forbade him the luxury of being uncomfortable with how little of himself was to be protected. The shirt bared all of his arms and his neck, the thin fabric covering only his torso. The pants they had provided covered far less, the fabric ending shortly below the crease where his arse met his thighs. 

But it was not so little time as to keep Rogers from being able to look, able to comment-- when Loki turned his back to the man to dress in silence and afford him some privacy, the Captain inhaled sharply through his teeth, and Loki had looked up, worried, but not stilling his movements. 

“ Sorry,” Rogers said, blushing inexplicably as he looked down and peeled his own shirt off, muscles rippling beneath his skin at the simple motion of it.”I just, I sort of hoped your back would be all healed up, too.” He looked sad, embarrassed, and Loki did not have time to work out what the man was feeling and why. 

“ Well, clearly it has not.” He only partially succeeded in keeping the bite out of his voice. 

Rogers winced and pulled on his replacement shirt, and Loki could not help but let his eyes skim across his arms, powerful looking and large with muscles. Sizing up his opponent. 

Once they were as dressed as they were going to get, they opened the door and returned to everyone else’s presence. 

Fury raised his brow and Looked to Hill once he saw them, and she lifted her shoulders defensively. “It’s what the guys wear to wrestle.” 

“ Is that what we’re gonna do? Wrestle?” Rogers asked, words sharp again. 

“ I think you should just fight as you would, first person to pin the other flat for a ten count wins. How’s that sound?” 

“ It sounds as though you do not spend overmuch time judging sparring matches, Director.” Loki ventured, and Hill laughed, then covered for it with a cough. 

“ It’s fine. Come on Loki, let’s get this over with.” Rogers sounded as though he were gritting his teeth through this. 

Loki took a deep calming breath and nodded shakily before moving into stance. 

He shifted his weight as he had learned to and waited, taking the defensive rather than attacking outright. 

Rogers, of course, knew this was about testing him. He lunged forward, a telegraphed fist bound for Loki’s head, but he stepped to the side, taking it to his shoulder instead, at less than full force-- but he knew that had it connected as intended, it would have hurt a good deal. The Captain may be pulling his blows, but he was not faking them. 

Wary now, Loki wedged his knee between his body and Rogers’s and used it to push him back, to create space between them. Just enough that he could bring his foot down on the Captain’s inner thigh just above his knee. If he had been in his boots, or even the Captain’s shoes, he might have knocked him to his knees. Instead, all he managed to do was cause him to stagger for a moment and bend that leg-- which was enough for Loki to use it as a step to launch himself up and onto Rogers’s shoulder.

He straddled him, a leg on either side of his body, and pitched to the side, attempting to send both Rogers and he tumbling to the cushioned floor. Rogers, however, was better prepared than that, and simply leaned with it, using his hands to loosen Loki’s leg hold and toppling Loki from his shoulder to the floor. 

Loki landed with a grunt and saw Rogers straighten and open his mouth to ask if he was okay. Rather than give him the opportunity, Loki kicked his legs out from under him, then launched himself atop him. 

He pressed his hands down onto the balls of his shoulders, attempting to hold him to the floor-- if he could reach ten, this would be over. 

Unfortunately, though, he was perched high enough on Rogers’ form to leave his legs free to move, and the Captain wrapped his ankles around Loki’s body and pulled him backwards, rolling them so that Loki was pinned the way Rogers had been, but a few moments previously. 

Loki stayed limp for a long moment, taking a few ragged breaths while he tested the Captain’s hold on him, tested the weight that the man applied to his wrists. 

He could feel that he wasn’t the only one breathing harshly, and when he looked up into Rogers’s face and smiled, the Captain looked momentarily horrified. 

Not merely taken aback-- genuinely concerned, but by the time Loki registered the expression, he had already used his legs to launch Rogers over his head and onto his back.

With his strength returned to him, the larger man’s body weight was negligible. He rolled to his side and then to his feet and moved towards his opponent, who used the space to flip upwards onto his own feet, and now crouched forwards, looking at him warily. 

They’d had a taste of what one another could do, now; the preliminaries of the fight were done, and Loki knew they were about to begin in earnest. 

He turned his thoughts to disabling Rogers, using what he knew of his attacks and parries. Was there any glaring weakness, anything that stood out as an opening for him? Anywhere that he could take him down?

He felt a slight chill, but shook it off. He needed to concentrate. 

Rogers came for him in a straightforward tackle, and Loki spun out of the way, nearly pirouetting. He sent a punch to the middle of Rogers’s back, unbalancing him and causing him to reel. Loki followed up on that disorientation, kicking again for his legs. 

This time, though, Rogers was ready and jumped back, stumbling again slightly. Loki pressed his advantage, closing in and attempting to tackle the Captain the same way he had tried, moments before. Rogers, however, had found his feet, and sent a kick to Loki’s chest, knocking him to the floor. 

Again, Rogers dropped on him, and this time Loki immediately used his strength to roll them, but this time Rogers was prepared for it, and resisted. Loki struggled against the force pressing back at him. Neither was willing to let up, and they were matched, as a count began. One, two, three-- Loki flung his head upwards and crashed their skulls together, causing Rogers to spring back and away from him in surprise. He followed, flipping their positions, but when he loomed over Rogers’ prone form, the moment the Captain’s head hit the ground, Loki felt sick… like there was something seriously wrong with his stomach. 

The surprise threw him, and Rogers flipped their positions again, and though Loki struggled, it felt as though someone was doing something horrible-- dragging a knife through him over and over, or-- 

 

_ \--you fucking dare hurt him. I will  _ _** end ** _ _ you. _

 

Loki laughed while he fell backwards against the ground, effectively giving in. It seemed he had been testing more than he realized. He stared placidly up at Rogers, whose face went from mistrustful to surprised to oddly flustered. Was he ashamed to be winning when Loki was clearly throwing the match? That was a shame; Loki had more important things to deal with just then, though. The ten count was called. 

“ What the hell was that?” Fury asked while Rogers helped him up. Loki kept his eyes averted and spoke lowly and quickly. 

“ Captain, I think you should contact Barnes. He seems to have gotten the wrong idea about what we were just… well. He is not pleased with me.”

He turned his attention to Fury, then, dismissing Rogers completely. 

“ I thought perhaps you had seen enough. Had I continued the fight, it would only have escalated… and one of us would have ended up injured. Which as we agreed, neither of us want. We seem to be reasonably well matched, he and I.”

Fury looked unconvinced but he nodded just the same. 

“ Cap, you still think you can handle him, if you need to? Still want to give him guns and take him on the road with you?”   
“ Absolutely.” Rogers responded, not a moment’s hesitation apparent in his voice. And so, like that, the choice was made, and Loki was hustled off to be outfitted, while Steve made a few phone calls.

 


	15. Fifteen

By the time they were allowed to leave, Loki had a large bag of supplies, most of which he planned to abandon at Rogers’s apartment, several weapons that he would carry with him, though he would have been more comfortable with his own daggers and knives and the like, and a pair of boots that, while not of elven make, were probably his favorite of the items he had been assigned. They were more comfortable even than going barefoot, which he considered to be a great achievement, and the clothing he now wore at least fit him and had the same sort of form and comforting weight as armor, though it lacked the aesthetic appeal of it.

All said and told, the trip had gone off surprisingly easily, save for how quiet the Captain had gone, after their fight.

It wasn’t until they were clambering from the car and headed back into the lobby of Rogers’ apartment building that Loki found out why.

“Can I trust you to stay here for a little bit? I need to go see Bucky.” The words all but poured out of Steve, as though they had spent the evening dammed up behind his teeth.

“Insomuch as you can trust me with anything, Captain.” He replied smoothly.

“Dammit Loki, can you give it a break for just a minute? I need to go get Bucky to a hospital because he stabbed himself to keep you from ‘killing’ me, because he thought that was what you were doing. You want to just-- can you just sit here, entertain yourself for a bit?” Rogers snapped, and Loki took a step backwards.

“Well, I am coming as well.” Loki said, confusion and shock flavoring the determined words while he shook his head. “I didn’t-- I thought he only heard me when I was a danger to myself, I didn’t realize...  I felt it but I didn’t realize-- I thought--”

“You knew.” the Captain said flatly. “When you gave in, you knew, and I--” his face went red and Loki took another step backwards, afraid of retribution.

“I did not know. It isn’t as though this link makes any more sense to me than it does to you, it is not something I have experienced before-- but all of this is irrelevant if Bucky is out there somewhere, bleeding, just because we are ill informed and uncommunicative.” He could not help but feel shaken-- and angry. “I know that you outrank me in every way, but your seniority in friendship does not invalidate the fact that we have been very close in these last months, and--”

“And he stabbed himself because of something you did and something he thought you were doing. I really don’t think it’s a good idea. Loki, please.” Rogers reached out and took hold of Loki’s upper arms.

“I am stretched really thin right now, I have way too much that needs my personal supervision, and I just… I need your support in this ok? I need to take care of my friend, we need to talk to Bruce, get him to… to teach you how to control your emotions or whatever it’s going to take to get this connection thing under control. I can’t have you going useless on me mid-mission, and I won’t be able to just take a cab every time Bucky decides that gutting himself is the only way to save the world from your misdeeds, okay? So, just for tonight-- Stay here. I have books, I have a TV, I have a radio. Sleep. Take a bath. I don’t care. Just-- behave, on your own, and let me do what I need to, okay?”

It was the Captain’s command voice, but tinged with desperation as well; a combination that did not go together.

At all.

“As you will. But please, hurry to him. If he suffers overmuch, I do not know how long I will have before I begin experiencing it.”

The look that Rogers gave him could have cut him in two, if it could have been weaponized. It sent a chill down Loki’s spine.

He wanted to protest, to say that he had not meant it selfishly, to explain that he was trying to save Steve some time and care and energy...

And like that, without a further word, he was left alone. Free for the first time, in Rogers’s home, of all places. And he could leave, if he wanted to. If people would not recognize him and hate him, if he would not be punished, slain for who he was and what he had done.

He decided that staying inside would be best.

 

Rogers had not been gone for long when Loki grew bored and restless. He opened Rogers’ refrigerator, but found himself as yet still too unfamiliar to be able to make much sense of the food and their packages. He understood the concept of the juice and helped himself to some of that, but left the rest alone.

He unpacked and removed the things he didn’t care for from the bag of SHIELD supplies, then repacked it smaller and tucked the remainder away in a corner of the living room, behind a brown leather chair and between a lamp and the wall. Out of the way, he figured. Unobtrusive. Inconspicuous.

He set himself to exploring the space, though it was very spartan. There were books that did not fit on their shelves-- perhaps those that Rogers had brought him were his own, taken from the many piles around his home.

It was odd, though, with so many books stacked-- neatly, yes, but still on the floor and on side tables-- that Rogers had elected to keep larger things on some of the shelves. Such as a green helmet, stars painted on it, that had clearly seen some abuse, judging by the paint that was scraped from it and the dents it held. His own, Loki wondered, or one that he had bought because it came from his own time, because it felt familiar?

Not that it particularly mattered, he supposed. It was nothing but a piece of decoration.

He drifted around, reading the titles of the books idly. He wondered what Rogers and Barnes were doing now, wondered how grievously Barnes had had to wound himself in order to get Loki’s attention.

Not knowing was tearing at him, because he knew he would be treated proportionally guilty for whatever pain Barnes went through. He wished there was a means of communicating other than pain, wished he could think his apologies, his concern, hard enough--

It hurt, knowing that his friend, the man that he had held after nightmares sent him scurrying into Loki’s sickbed, hated him now. Though he supposed he should be used to it. Everyone who cared for him came to loathe him with some eventuality.

He had wandered his way over to the Captain’s desk, and looking down upon it he was surprised not to find paperwork, no newspapers or handwritten notes-- no. Instead, there were art pads, empty paper that had been filled with sketches of buildings, this neighborhood, the SHIELD building… and places that Loki did not know. And beneath that one, a book full only of drawings of people. Barnes was there, along with a dozen others that Loki did not know. So much care was given to the faces, and the rest of them were nothing but sporadically detailed parts, sketchy areas where hair and clothing should be… like drawings from a memory, where the Captain had not wanted to invent things that he could not recall.

And a few pages later the details fled entirely, devolving to loose sketches. Action filled scribbled of agents (he assumed) mid-fight. Avengers (judging by the heights and sizes of the figures) lounging, all unfinished. And something that might have been Loki himself, with Grima standing protectively over him. Difficult to say, without faces or identifying details, but it was also difficult to divine how Steve felt from these. In the others, the viewer could almost feel the longing, the sadness… these...

He realized, with a small start, that with Grima returned to being Barnes, he was now in the same position that Rogers had been in before. His friend did not exist any longer, as he knew him. He was hurt because he was clinging to someone who wasn’t there. And by saving Barnes, he had lost Grima. The difference was that While Barnes now remembered being himself, he also remembered being Grima. He did not have to fight for his memories, and, most of all, he did not need Loki to help him in his fight.

Steve had far more claim on the man than Loki could ever pretend to have had.

And so, again, he had nothing. No one.

He felt a hollow pang at that, but he should know better. He wasn’t meant to have grown attached to Grima. He was supposed to just use him. And he wasn’t lonely, he wasn’t missing the others from the home… he was just… less powerful, without his allies.

He sat on the chair beside his packs and picked a book at random--  Something unsurprisingly about honor and war and utterly useless for Loki’s needs.

But it did send him to dozing, so that it wasn’t until Rogers stood before him that he woke with a start.

The book had fallen from his hands at some point, and when he flinched upon waking, he brought his hands up, reflexively, not needing to lift them far from where they had come to rest beside his head.

Rogers frowned, and slowly Loki registered where he was.

“How is he?” He asked softly, remembering the guilt he had escaped in his sleep.

“He’s fine. It wasn’t actually all that dangerous. Apparently,” he ground out the word, and Loki winced. “He had been educated in ways to harm himself without doing major damage. He missed most of the important stuff, and he used a little knife. Grand total of six stitches.”

The tone of his voice implied that Loki was very lucky, but there was something off about him.

“I am glad it was not as serious as it might have been. We won’t fight one another again any time soon; I hope he knows not to try and disable me through himself now?” He asked, to which Rogers nodded tersely. “Was there something else?” Loki asked after a long moment of silent expectation on the Captain’s part.

Rogers looked away, as if only just realizing he’d been staring. Loki sighed.

Of course he was not the only one suffering from this transition; for the Captain, Loki had gone from foe to friend to foe again, dead then healed and now partnered to him, and the return of his true friend, Barnes, was coupled with Loki’s status in limbo. Was he foe or friend, or did it matter? And Loki felt badly, but he could not summon the energy to try and straighten that out for Rogers just now.

He stood, forcing the other man to stumble backwards.

“I am sorry, Captain, but it has been a long day. Perhaps you could show me where it is I am meant to be sleeping?” He asked, and he saw the way Rogers flushed.

“You’re looking at it, I guess-- unless you want the bed, I can take the couch. Either way, I’m gonna have to pull out blankets, so.” He raised a finger and walked away, and Loki glanced at the long cushion with a small feeling of disgust.

Surely it was better than the ground, and better than denying the man his bed. He huffed and crossed to it to poke at the surface with his fingers until Rogers returned.

“Yes, I think this will do.” He told him, lying through his teeth.

“You sure?” He asked, surprised out of his embarrassment and his distrust. Rogers had obviously expected some sort of fight from him, despite how tired the man looked. As if Loki would not take pity on his exhaustion.

Perhaps, once, he would not have.

“I have been a prince and I have been a thrall. This is better than some beds I have seen, and less than others, but serviceable just the same. It will do.” He told him firmly.

Steve nodded.

“Alright. Tomorrow morning we’re going to go over those briefing documents Hill gave us, and see if we can’t figure out a plan of action. We need to get on the road after Sin, if we can figure out where she is.”

“And what of Barnes?” Loki blurted. “Will he join us? Or… do you think he will be alright here without either of us?” Without you, Loki meant, but could not bring himself to say.

“Bucky’s staying here. When he needs it, Sam agreed to let him stay with him.” The Captain spoke to him firmly, in a tone that said Loki was not to question these arrangements. “We’re hoping that distance will dull your connection somewhat.” Loki didn’t point out the obvious flaw with this thinking, where Barton had heard him despite being on different realms. “And,” Rogers continued, “I gave him another Stark phone, so that he can contact me if he needs to.”

Loki realized he had been hoping that Rogers would offer him a means of contacting Bucky as well, a way to apologize and ask what he could do to make things right between them.

But, he supposed both the Captain and Bucky were making it abundantly clear that the friend Loki had thought he had was gone, and would not be coming back. Barnes did not want him in his life. And Loki supposed he could hardly blame him. It was a good decision. Very sound.

Loki nodded, casting his eyes floorward.

“I am glad he has you, then. And I suppose… I will retire now. Tomorrow we will seek out Sin and go after the sceptre.”

“Yeah. Alright, well, uh-- I’m just down the hall if you need anything.”

Loki did not know the cause of this uncertainty, but he wrote it off to either fear that now Loki had control of all of his body and regained fitness, Rogers would be less safe sleeping around him-- or else purely exhaustion. Either option was viable.

 

He watched as the Captain beat his retreat, and then set about making the best he could of the sleeping arrangement. He laid the blankets out and stretched outwards under them, but the back of the couch made his arm feel as though it was restrained. He rolled onto his side, but the angle made it feel as though he were falling. Again.

To the other side, he felt as if he were suffocating, and that was no better.

And so Loki stood and stripped the cushions from the couch and lay them on the floor, laying himself atop them gingerly.

It wasn’t comfortable. He could feel the cold and the hardness of the floor beneath him, could feel the way the cushions shifted in an attempt to separate from one another. He would not be comfortable...But then, neither was Barnes. Neither was being stabbed in the gut, he reasoned. He didn’t deserve comfort when he caused so much pain in others. And who knew where Sin was now, and what discomfort she must be in, her mind so changed from how it was before. Not to mention the rest of the inhabitants of NEST; how had their lives changed, how much of their rehabilitation did he set back?

And more importantly, why should he care? Why should he dwell on it?

With such jovial thoughts to accompany him, he tried to empty his mind and let the darkness of sleep take him. It came, but not quickly.

  
  


Alertness came to him all too soon and he twitched awake, The Captain’s shoes the first thing he saw, close to his face, and he flinched and curled inward instinctively, trying to protect the softer parts of his body, while his limbs shook from the cold that seemed to have set in to his very bones.

“Loki--” The Captain’s voice was strained, and Loki was groggily aware of Rogers kneeling; of the hand that lit softly on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--” He could hear the Captain swallow, then take a long, slow breath while Loki uncurled cautiously, his heart pounding. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay?”

Loki blinked, trying to force his eyes to focus more quickly so that he could make sense of his situation.

He was on the floor, and the cushions had slid apart so that he was half way between the two of them, and draped over them as well. He felt stiff and sore and the shaking his muscles were doing wasn’t helping matters.

But he was unharmed by the waking, if that was what the Captain meant.

“I believe so, yes.” His throat gritted from his time sleeping, and he shook his head, annoyed that his body was healed and still so unreliable.

“I was just going to let you know I’m going for my run. If you want, you can take my bed while I’m gone. I have a feeling you didn’t get much sleep down here.” Rogers sounded rueful about that. Loki’s brow knitted; it was hardly his fault he’d been tormented by his own misdeeds.

“Alright. I will. Thank you.” If nothing else, it would give him space to stretch out the sore muscles he’d developed.

Rogers stood, and Loki sat up, his hand coming up to massage his shoulder.

The Captain took a few steps away, then turned back.

“You do know I’m not going to hurt you, don’t you?” He asked, and Loki sighed.

“I’m not afraid of you.” He said, though it was not fully accurate. “It’s just habit.” That, on the other hand, was.

Rogers made a small strangled noise, then nodded.

“Alright. You know where the bed is, make yourself at home-- I’ll be back in an hour and a half or so. I’ll pick up breakfast on the way.” He sounded as if he was bargaining, and Loki wasn’t sure why.

“Alright.” He echoed, and watched the other man leave.

 

Once he was gone, he hauled himself to his feet, shook out the stiffness as best he was able, and carried the blankets he’d been given with him into Rogers’s bedroom.

As he might have expected, there was no sign it had been in use anytime recently. Whatever clothes the Captain slept in were put out of sight, the bedding turned up and the pillows laid flat. It was all very neat, very orderly, everything meticulously straightened… and Loki was going to mess it up.

He pulled his blankets over himself and lay atop Rogers’s comforter.

Whether it was the warmth of the barely-rising sun, or just the difference that not being on the floor made, he didn’t feel cold. The cocoon of his own body heat enveloped him, and soon he had drifted off into a doze, and not long after that, into a proper sleep.

 

Rogers did not wake him when he returned. Loki knew, because as he rose from his rest, he could hear the other man in the living room, speaking as quietly as he could.

The sun was high up now, and as he stood from the bed and took his blankets over his arm, to carry them back to the living room, he heard a few moments of the conversation his captor was having.

“--Don’t know that’s wise, sir. I can fly it. We don’t know what we’re going into, and I won’t risk--”

Loki hovered at the doorway, not sure if he was meant to hear. If Rogers was turning down the offer of more men to keep them away from him.

“--That was one time, all due respect, and we aren’t going to be carrying things to blow anyone up. I won’t crash your--”

He saw Loki, though, and waved him into the room, gesturing that he could take the chair, then held up a single finger. He seemed harried and Loki did not want whomever was on the other end of the call to think him out of control, because it could just be someone who could change their minds and lock him away.

“No, If it’s all the same, I think under the radar is the way to go. Hydra’s always been armed to the teeth and ready for a small army-- theirs will be bigger. But two guys, we can manage just fine. It’s worked before and it will work again.”

He listened, and Loki found himself studying the Captain’s body language, seeking some clue as to how the conversation was going.

His grip on the receiver was loose, not at all tensed the way he might have been, given the thinness of his lips-- but he was strong, Loki remembered, strong like Loki was, and this world was not built for men like them. He realized that Rogers must have to restrain himself constantly, annoyed or upset or not. No matter how strongly he felt, he could not tighten his hold on the phone or he would destroy it.

And Loki wondered how much of his life that was true of.

“Well then just drop us. We can walk the rest of the way. He’s rested now, you saw him keep up with me--” So either Hill or Fury, and likely the latter, Loki thought, because ‘Sir’s did not befit a lady.

Even one so fearsome as Hill seemed to be.

“--Briefing? Sir, Is that really--” He sounded more than annoyed now; pissed might be closer to the truth. Loki sat still, certain this somehow was his fault or his doing. “Yes sir. I will wait to hear from you. Thank you, Director.”

 

Loki nodded to himself, pleased to have been right, while Rogers hung up the phone.

“They’ve got a hit on Sin. She’s back in Germany, and she was spotted in a town near one of the known bases for Hydra. I’m going to take a wild guess and say that’s where she’s headed. No problem though, because we have people on the inside. Schematics will be delivered within an hour or two. And…” Here was the pause Loki had been waiting for. “And Fury’s looking for someone willing to fly us to Germany now.”

“Director Fury is looking for someone willing to pilot a plane with me on board.” Loki translated for him. He saw the way Rogers’s eyes flicked downwards, his jaw setting. He did not have to answer.

“Wise of them.” He said, into the silence, and Rogers looked up, mistrust stamped across his face. Loki scoffed. The Captain opened his mouth to say something, and Loki raised an imperious finger for silence.

“I am not going to do anything to endanger you or I, no. But if the pilot is unwilling, they will be jumpy. Never good. Doubly so if we are to be in the enemy’s territory.” He grinned, all sharp angles and teeth. “If they are too busy looking over their shoulders, they will not be paying ample attention to what lies ahead. Not ideal.”

Rogers made a noise at the back of his throat, and the look on his face was strained at best. Loki wasn’t sure what he’d said to cause it, but he kept talking, deciding to disregard it.

“I believe you said you would return with breakfast. Have I slept too late to partake?”

Rogers tilted his wrist to look at the face of the clock he wore there, and winced apologetically.

“I’m sorry. I was going to wake you up sooner, but then the call came in, and… yeah the food I got is probably cold and not worth eating anymore now.”

Loki shrugged as if it did not bother him unduly, despite his stomach shrinking painfully in despair at the words.

“It is of no consequence. I am grateful that you allowed me your bed at all.”

Rogers looked as if he wanted to say something again, but he held his tongue on whatever it was and turned his attention towards the kitchen. He sighed.

“If we weren’t waiting on Fury to call back, I’d offer to take you out to grab something to eat, but as it is… probably better we try for delivery.”

The news that he was to be fed despite his oversleeping past the mealtime was glorious enough to pardon the loss of a trip outdoors.

“It is likely for the best, at any rate.” He agreed. “It would be unpleasant for you if I were recognized in your company.”

 

Rogers looked surprised, as if he had not considered it, and Loki huffed out a laugh.

“Place your order. I am going to bathe on my own two feet.” He did not bother to excuse himself more politely than that, merely retreated back to the restroom, and made quick work of his clothing and the water.

When he finally emerged again, sweet smelling and lighter feeling, he found Steve setting out dishes on the table.

In two clear bags on the counter, delightful smelling cartons waited to be opened.

“If you don’t mind some company, I figured we can eat and talk planning at the same time. Get that out of the way all at once.” Rogers said, not needing to look up to know he was there.

“You’ve information that can be used to make plans with?” Loki inquired, surprised that this was the first he had heard of it.

“They emailed me the floorplans for Hydra’s base, yeah. Once we’re done looking these over, I’ll have to destroy them, but in the meantime--” He gestured at a pile of papers on the center island of the kitchen.

“It’s something we can be doing, until we get orders for when we’re to leave from Fury. And we’re going to be on our own, so it isn’t like we have to wait for anybody.”

“I haven’t eaten, my mind is not on par with plan making requirements just yet.” It felt like whining, pointing it out, but Loki was not above employing even his stomach to get what he wanted.

“Right. Food first. I ordered-- you don’t even know what Chinese is. Well, I hope it’s okay, and there’s something in here that you can eat.”

Honestly Loki was hungry enough, and tired enough of bland food from NEST, that he was fairly certain he could eat just about anything.

Not that he would give Rogers that assurance.

“Midgardian food, while assuredly lesser, will simply have to do.” He shrugged and sank into the chair nearest him, then gestured at the table. “Go on, then. Serve me.”

 

Rogers stared at him for several seconds, before taking up the bags and dropping them in front of Loki on the table.

He looked up at the Captain, confused and a little shocked.

“Serve yourself.” He said, and folded his arms. “And while you’re at it, you think you want to explain to me how we went from damn near friends to this?” He gestured at the bags as if they were physical manifestations of their strife.

“Very simply. I was a prince, brought low, and I wanted you to let me die. You refused, and now I have my strength back. So I am, while not so elevated as I was, at least better than I have been.”

“Yeah but you agreed to sleep on my couch, and then took the floor when that didn’t work, without complaining. You can’t make up your mind about whether you want to be nice to me or hold me at arm’s length-- or take killing me seriously enough that someone else linked into your mind felt the need to shank himself. When you thought you were dying, you called me Steve-- but now, you won’t call me by anything but ‘Captain’ or ‘Rogers’.”

 

Loki stared at him, then pushed his chair back, standing.

“You are a captor, Rogers. I have no choices, now, but to go with you into a potentially deadly situation, unarmed by my standards, to save your world, which I have already tried once to ground beneath my heel. And even if we succeed, there is no reward waiting for me. I will not be compensated, or even acknowledged, because if your populace knows I am here, they will call for my blood. And the one thing which could improve my state, the sceptre, you would deny me. Besides that, I now have no privacy in my own mind, the man who tortured me thinks he can walk back into my life as a brother, and even death will not allow me to escape from this punishment. You give me no escape, no reason to live, and no hope, and you ask why I act as I do?” He was incredulous, he was angry, and he was not going to continue playing this game.

“Oh.” Was really all Rogers seemed capable of saying, so Loki scowled and tore open the bags, opened the first carton he came upon, took up the wooden stakes that seemed to serve as utensils, and gathered the papers, before retreating into the living room area.

“Enjoy your dinner, _Captain_.” He told him, malice not masked in the least.

 

Rogers looked like he wanted to object, argue, perhaps even apologize, but Loki was having none of it. He ignored him, only noticing when Rogers finally opened one of the other cartons and picked at the contents using both of his stakes.

Loki, on the other hand, was unable to make them work, and so settled for stabbing through the fried and gooey meat with one of his.

The sauce was made with something that left his tongue feeling swollen and blistered, but he ate more of it just the same, refusing to return to the table so that he could eat something else. He could not make sense of the paperwork he was reading, either, but he was stubborn, and as he said, he had no reason to care for any of this. Not anymore.

In his head, he felt the prying sensation, like Bucky Barnes was running his nails against the inside of Loki’s skull. At least it did not feel the same as physical sensation had, but it was unpleasant just the same.

“Alright, alright, okay.” He muttered, then sighed when the feeling suddenly stopped. Apparently he could hear him.

“Rogers. Explain to me these plans, I cannot make heads nor tails of them.” He stood and returned to the dining room, then stopped short, surprised to see that the Captain’s face had gone patchy and red, and his cheeks were damp.

 

He faltered.

“What is it, what’s happened?” He meant to sound stern, but all he sounded, to himself, was desperate. Rogers had cried in front of him before, exhausted and overwhelmed, but this wasn’t that, necessarily.

Rogers dashed the tears from his cheeks brusquely but not angrily, before turning to look at Loki.

“Sorry. It’s just-- no matter what I do, I’m doing wrong by you somehow, and that’s not what I want. I just don’t know how to fix it.”

 

“For all of your pretty words about being glad I am not dead, and about being friends, I think the time that I spent hidden, when I was working to learn the craft of the sceptre, it was not only Gr--Bucky who grew away from me, was it?”

Rogers looked stunned, and Loki pushed his advantage.

“You have urged me to trust you, you bemoan the friendship we have lost-- tell me, Rogers, were you certain that I was good? That I would return, that I planned to do what was right? No. You were so afraid that you went after Thor, you sought Asgard’s help. And you have chastised me for my mistrust of SHIELD. But let me ask you, Captain, of the two of us, who has had their trust betrayed more greatly of late?”

Arguably he had used the sceptre for ill, given that it had released Sin from Cynthia, but in this instance, intent did have to be taken into consideration. In which case, he was the one who was more betrayed. And, he thought, they both knew it.

“Do you want to know how to fix it? Truly? Then know this: You told me that if I could help to recover the sceptre and Sin, you had people who would find me a reason to be here, a way of living safely among the people of Midgard. I have no where else to go. So I will aid you in your mission, in the interest of my own comfort. And I will keep you from harm as much as possible, because without your word, none will have any reason to want to help me, but as for our friendship, which of us do you suppose has betrayed it more?”

Loki thought he had done a good job of being as blunt as possible, and judging by the way Rogers gaped, he was too stunned to argue the point.

“I had to go into hiding because I knew none of you would trust me enough to do the right thing. You say you try, but your first thought is always what terrible thing I have done. So much so that you honestly accused me of allowing Barnes to bleed out, knowing what was happen, rather than tell you.” And that hurt, in a way he did not want it to.

“You wish to do right by me? Trust that I can, at the very least, identify what is right and what isn’t. I may be slated forever to fail, but I do try to do what is right. When it matters. When I can. And do not invite Thor back into my life, do not attempt to… to return me to Asgard. You have seen what awaits me there, how I came to you from them. If you truly want to help me, help me to reclaim my magic. Help me to find a way off of your world, a way to go find myself some prospects, some hope for a life of my own. And do not suppose that I am going to harm those that I have proven my care for. We both know you are better than that.” He sat down and offered the spicy chicken meat back across at Rogers.

“Now. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, and for me, and help me to make sense of your tactical markings. I want to understand what we are planning.”

 

The maps and plans were, it turned out, thorough and simple in turn. They did not know where they would find Sin, only that this seemed to be where she was headed. Rogers intended to have them dropped from the plane into the countryside not far from the hold-- close enough for easy access, but far enough that they would not be noticed. They would then make the short trek, break into the base, locate Sin, wrest the sceptre free of her, and make their escape.

He said nothing of harming her, and Loki was glad for that. He wanted no part in it, too easily able to remember the girl who had to sleep with a bit in her mouth to keep her screams in and to keep from biting her tongue.

The phone rang as Rogers was describing the doorway they would have to make their way through, in the lobby of the building, which would lead to the elevator-- more direct and better coverage than the staircase, with less entry points.

Loki gestured that he should answer and put the remains of their dinner into Rogers’ refrigerator. He wandered into the living room and lifted the sack with what he needed of the SHIELD issued gear onto the couch, and began checking and double checking the items it held, to be certain he would not miss anything, giving Rogers some space to speak to his superior.

 

When he returned a few minutes later, he looked consternated.

“So we’ve got our pilot, but he’s just getting back from another call, he gets in at around 2 this morning so he needs a full sleep cycle before going out again. The plan is for us to leave around midnight, which means staying here for another night.”

Rogers sounded apologetic, and Loki knew it was because of his shivering on the floor that morning.

He nodded silently and hefted the bag, stashing it again in its corner, out of the way.

Behind him, he heard Rogers exhale noisily.

“Look. I can-- I’ll take the couch tonight. You’re going to need your rest for the drop and the hike, and I can sleep just about anywhere.” He seemed ready for an argument, and he wasn’t wrong.

“Your life is short enough without endangering it with being underslept.” He snapped. “I will make do, as I did last night.” Though he did not look forward to the cold or the way his bones ached from it again. He would be fine.

“I wouldn’t have left you out here if I’d realized the couch wouldn’t be wide enough for you.” Rogers told him, defensive, and Loki shrugged.

“And what makes you think, then, that you will fare any better? You are wider across than I.” He pointed out. “This is foolish. Either we may take your bed in turns, or we can share it. It seemed wide enough for two, and it isn’t as though neither of us has slept in the other’s presence before.”

He could see Rogers’s hesitation and turned back to his bag, fiddling with it uselessly, to mask the hurt.

“But then, things have changed since, I suppose. If you would like to sleep first, I will find ways of occupying myself until you wake.” He gestured at the books, annoyed when Steve scoffed.

“It’s fine. Let’s-- why don’t we just share. Like you said, it’s not like you’re going to kill me in my sleep.” He still sounded uneasy though, and Loki could not help but feel sorrow that he had given the Captain reason to doubt him so thoroughly as to question his safety.

“If it would ease your fears--” He hesitated, firming his resolve before speaking. “I became accustomed to being bound when I slept, under the care of the Chitauri. If you will sleep easier for it…” He trailed off, unable to quite bring himself to say the words, though he felt the suggestion had been made.

“What? No!” He all but sputtered, and something in Loki warmed at the indignation he showed. “Loki that isn’t-- I know you feel like I can’t be your friend because I’m some kind of jailer, but… that doesn’t mean I have to… to tie you up or torture you. I wouldn’t-- is that.” He seemed to lose track of his words and change directions, floundering for a moment before asking, softer, “Is that why you sleep with your hands--?” He raised his own to demonstrate, bringing his wrists together and up to near his jaw.

“I had thought myself to have broken the habit.” Loki said flatly, the warm feeling fleeing and his chest going cold with humiliation. It was horrific to think that after a mere two days in his home, Rogers had already found one weakness of his, had been watching and taking note. Loki would have to be more careful, would have to try not to give away any more of himself, particularly inadvertently as that had been.

“I’m sorry.” Rogers apologized quickly, sensing that he had offended. “I didn’t mean-- I just. No, Loki.” He sounded sad again, and Loki cursed himself inwardly for bringing this about. “You don’t have to give up… feeling like a person, or feeling safe, just because you think-- I’m fine. I trust you. Whether you think so or not, I-- look. We have a long day ahead of us, and if we can’t trust one another through it, it could well kill us. So let’s… at least until we get the sceptre back, let’s just agree to trust each other, okay? Starting with sleeping. Neither of us will be much good without it.”

Loki nodded, though the gesture was jerkier than it might otherwise have been.

“Lead the way, Captain.” He said, holding his distance with the address and his tone, stilted and reserved.

Rogers frowned at that, but did not comment, and did as Loki asked, flipping the light switches off as he went.

 

Back in his room, Rogers gestured.

“I usually take the right side, but-- whatever you’re more comfortable with, go ahead. I’m just going to brush my teeth, wash my face, get into pajamas, usual bedtime routine stuff. Um, do you-- do you need something to sleep in? I don’t know how you feel about sweats-- like what you’re wearing now, um. I have thinner pajama bottoms if you want.”

Loki looked down at his garb, the SHIELD gear loose fitting and soft, made for comfort, he thought.

“This will do. I will wear the more tactical clothing tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Rogers said, retrieving his own clothes from a drawer in his dresser before retreating into the bathroom.

Loki sat, unsure what he should be doing, then stripped his shirt off and slid beneath the blankets on the bed, silently grateful for the warmth and softness of this bed, for the fact that it was not the floor, nor the restraining closeness of the couch.

He curled onto his side, turning himself away from the light that shone beneath the door of Rogers’s bathroom.

He lay there for a matter of minutes, waiting until Rogers should finish and return-- he did, at length, though when the light of the bathroom went out, a moment later, the light of his side table flickered on.

And then Loki could feel the cold of the blankets being lifted away from his form, and for a moment he was afraid he had overstepped. That he should have brought in the blankets he’d been given the night before to sleep under.

But then Rogers sighed and joined him beneath the covers.

“Goodnight Loki,” He said softly, as though he feared that Loki slept already. Loki did not answer, and after another moment, the light was extinguished.

He waited a matter of several minutes before he gave up on his tense fear that something more might happen, and he began counting, making his breathing even and deep-- a facsimile of sleep, but also calming, a good way to lead himself to rest.

 

Only, the Captain seemed to think it real. Loki felt the shift in the mattress as the other man relaxed, too, and then he had to fight the urge to stiffen  and cringe away when Rogers leaned in towards Loki and lifted the blankets away again.

For a wild moment, he thought he was about to be stabbed in the back, until gentle fingers descended upon his skin. Careful hands traced along the scars his father had gifted him, and he could not resist the urge to shudder, sickened and humiliated again.

Rogers seemed to take that as a sign that he had intruded, and rightly so. He withdrew quickly, and took a deep, shaky breath.

“I am so sorry.” He whispered, the words so soft that Loki thought he may have imagined them.

Rogers settled and, in time, his breathing evened. Only then did Loki allow himself to truly relax, his eyes slipping closed and the darkness taking him, relief spreading over him like another blanket, another layer of warmth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short and seems to be such slow going. I've had the problem of realizing just how much story I have yet to tell in this, and am having to motivate myself out of being daunted with fan-favored tropes. 
> 
> In other words...Oh no they have to share a bed. 
> 
> Hopefully it will get better soon-- Thanks for reading!


	16. Sixteen

When Loki woke, he was surprised to find Steve was still asleep. He’d risen so early the morning prior, Loki would have expected to be awakened by him. But instead, as he became aware of his surroundings, it became clear to him that he had been awakened instead by his position. 

 

He had rolled as far as he could to his side of the bed, and now balanced precariously on the edge. Normally this would not have been a problem-- he would simply move back the other way, but for the fact that Rogers had apparently rolled during the night, and it was press against him, or press against the floor. 

 

_ Damn. _

 

And he wanted to return to sleep, to take advantage of his relative comfort and the time he had left before they shipped out to who knew what sort of conditions, and what sort of dangers. 

 

And, to be completely fair, perhaps the good Captain would not have rolled so close, had Loki not stolen all of the blankets for himself, somehow cocooning them around him. 

Not that he would admit to this being his fault, of course. 

 

Slowly, carefully, he unwound himself from the covers and spread them back out over the two of them. 

Laying down, he tried to be completely still, afraid that his movements may have roused Rogers. After a few moments, though, he became more certain that this was not the case. 

 

He let his thoughts wander, let them drift, and that often led to trouble, led to unpleasant memories that were better forgotten, but this time rather than relive tortures, his mind settled quickly. It seemed fixated on reliving the night before, when Rogers had stroked his scars, had whispered an apology to the darkness. He didn’t understand, wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear it. Didn’t know if he had been apologizing for the hurts done, the scars left, or for the invasiveness of his touch, his curiosity...

 

None of it quite seemed to make sense, nor to fit. Steve had apologized for all of that before, while he was awake and to his face. There should be no reason to do so secretly, after thinking that Loki slept. And certainly not so intimately as that had been. 

 

It was… discordant. Worrisome. Not harmful, but unnerving, perhaps, was the best word for it. Then again, he was a mortal, with his tiny life, and he was about to go into a situation where it may end. 

 

Loki was sure that could cause some strange turns of the mind. And especially coupled with the fact that he’d driven Rogers to tears-- again-- by telling him how his efforts at helping were harming him. Both times he had made him cry, that had been the case. And perhaps that was what he had been apologizing for. How he saw himself failing. How Loki had told him he was.

 

As though his conscience weren’t doing a good enough job at it, holding so still was making him uncomfortable, and he considered giving up on sleep, but he did not know how much he would have the opportunity to get, later. 

 

It seemed more sensible for him to get up and move to the other side-- the side Steve had abandoned to move towards Loki. But that would mean having to acknowledge the discomfort he’d felt when Steve woke up. 

 

And he could not move to the living room; he would be stiff and sore and uncomfortable from laying there, and he may very well need to be at his best. 

 

So finally, after the silent debate could continue no longer, he rolled onto his back, wincing as the scars that Steve had traced hours prior came into contact with skin that burned so warm, it felt like he had been stung, at first. 

 

Steve was hot, ran hot, and Loki felt a moment of concern; Grima had not been this warm when he’d held him. It did not seem that humans ought to be. Then again, Steve was not precisely a human. He had had more added to him, Loki knew that. It was still odd to think it, however. And what strange bedfellows they made, a frost giant and a human heat source. 

 

But laid out like this, he could see the empty space beside him, the area Steve had rolled away from. 

It seemed large enough for Loki to lay out on.

His problem thus solved, he slipped from the bed and around it, to the other side, then crawled back on, and pulled the blankets over himself, shivering even from the brief excursion. 

 

\----

 

When he woke again, Rogers was up, and had been for some time. He could only hope that he had not been the focus or recipient of any additional heartfelt apologies in his sleep.

 

He rose and made the bed, then moved carefully back out into the living room, glad of the knowledge that they would soon be leaving the apartment. Not that he wasn’t appreciative of the Captain’s housing him, but as with NEST, he knew that if limited to these few rooms, he would find himself tired of them very quickly. 

 

“Hey.” He heard from the kitchen, and he flinched, then flushed guiltily. He had felt like he was sneaking without having intended to. 

“I uh… hope you slept okay.” Loki rolled his eyes at the Captain’s seeming inability to broach the subject of their change in sleeping arrangements. 

 

“Better than I would have on the floor.” He answered shortly, though it was true. Rogers nodded jerkily and dropped the subject. 

 

“There’s some breakfast for you if you want it. Hashbrowns, gravy, some sausage. Biscuits.”

He pointed at each food item he named with his spatula, and Loki nodded, though Rogers sounded hesitant. Embarrassed. 

 

“It smells very good, thank you.” It was pointless, the Captain’s shyness now, his awkwardness. 

 

Loki thought it best to ignore it, to move on as though he hadn’t had to swap sides of the bed, as if he had no idea that Rogers had touched his scars and felt guilt or pity about them. Frankly they had time for neither at the moment. 

 

“How soon will the car be here to take us to your airfield?” He asked, eyeing the food and uncertain if he even had time to eat.

 

“They’ll pick us up around 11:20 tonight, so it’s practically a full day, yet. You have plenty of time to eat breakfast, and then some.” He handed across a plate that he had dished up, then brought his own and sat at the table opposite Loki. 

 

“You feel ready for this?” He asked, and Loki shrugged, his mouth full of potato. 

 

He chewed and swallowed, then spoke. 

“I am as ready as I can be, I suppose. And yourself? I imagine it must be terribly disarming, agreeing and planning to be dropped into enemies’ territory, with only a prisoner at your back. It cannot be overly appealing, this arrangement. Are you sure you do not want to invite The Widow or the Falcon or perhaps Barnes along, to help you subdue me if you need must?” 

 

He spoke casually of it, and hoped that Rogers would become indignant. He thought he might find himself more at ease with the other on the defensive. 

 

But Rogers just looked at him for a long second and then shrugged. 

“I managed to hold my own against you just fine. And, you said you didn’t expect it would come to that. I believe you. Plus, seems to me Bucky can help take you down remotely pretty well, too.”

 

Loki scowled at that, and got the impression of Barnes being amused. 

This was so much worse than the last time he’d had this kind of hole in his defenses-- at least then he’d had his magic to help stop it from allowing others to see in, to keep all but the most intense of his feelings contained. This was practically like having a shadow in his mind at all times, and he loathed it-- probably as much as Barnes loathed him now. 

 

“Have you spoken to him?” Loki asked, aware that the pause made the words seem sudden. “About this connection we suffer, about me?” He wanted to know how much Steve knew, how much Bucky had told him… and if Steve had any insight in how Loki could reach out to Barnes, apologize at the very least. Even if he knew he could not make things right. 

 

He had tried focusing apologetic feelings at the corner of his mind where Barnes’ thoughts seemed to come from, but he hadn’t felt anything, neither recognition or rejection, and it was hardly the same thing as speaking, any way. He felt like he owed him more. 

 

“A little.” Rogers responded. “He seems mainly glad that you’re as discomforted by it and as uncertain what to do with it as he is.” 

Loki scoffed. 

 

“Is that your kind way of saying that he fears I will weaponize it against him, as he has done to me?” He asked archly. He put a forkful of food into his mouth, feinging a casual passing interest in the conversation, rather than his desperation for some kind of clue. And the worst of it was not knowing whether or not Barnes might be listening, right now. 

 

Rogers shook his head, looking uncomfortable. 

“I didn’t say that.” And Loki just smirked, certain that meant he had been right. 

 

“It’s funny, how often you people suspect me of giving you the hurts that you level at me first. I think people fear most what they feel guiltiest about. You and he both are quickest to accuse me of your own wrongdoings.”

 

He scooped some eggs onto his fork, but didn’t raise it to his mouth immediately. 

“I feel a little insulted by that actually. I’m not that boring. I would expect that both of you would know by now that if I intended to hurt you, it would be something unpredictable and nothing that you had any idea was coming… so honestly, whatever it is you and he are worrying about, you shouldn’t bother.” 

 

He used the fork in his mouth as a sort of punctuation for that statement, pleased with himself and the way the Captain’s eyes narrowed, his face looking wary. 

Loki rolled his eyes again. 

 

“I don’t know why you seem incapable of listening; I’ve already told you you’re safe from harm from me. I need you too much for me to hurt you in any way, and risk you refusing to hold up your end of the bargain. You’re to help me find a place where most of the people around don’t want to kill me, yes? You will keep me from being forced to return to Asgard, as that idiot who calls himself my brother wants. And you’re to help me regain my powers, that I can be free of this world, along with the interloper in my own mind.” 

 

And that was sent in Barnes’ direction, too, though he still had no way of knowing if he were there or not. If he were listening or not; able to hear or not. 

 

“I can listen, it’s just… hard to know what to believe. You’re a walking contradiction. Half the time you want me to trust you, and the other half the time you’re saying I trust you too much. You’re not the easiest person to try and be close to, you know?” He didn’t seem upset, just… confused. Loki tilted his head. 

 

“And why are you trying to be close to me, Captain? Haven’t you seen enough of what being close to me gains you?” He felt himself shuttering, going distant even as he spoke, and he was sure the Captain could see it in his posture, even if his words didn’t do a good enough job on their own.

 

“Because no one else is, and I don’t care who you are, or who you think you are, or what you are… everyone needs people. Needs friends. You worked so hard gaining them, I don’t understand how you can just ignore that now, in favor of pushing everyone away.” 

 

They were both playing the game now, of keeping their voices light and the tone of the conversation insignificant, while discussing things that could be outright hurtful.

 

“And so you persist in your attempt to get me to count you as my friend. Is this under the advisement of Doctor Rivera? Building my support network into just you, so that I must be dependent, reliant-- and glad of it?” He frowned, though he was secretly thrilled at the shape the discussion was taking. “Do you not recall how that went? When I was first moved to NEST and thought you were to be used as prize or punishment for my behaviors? You cried then, too, as I recall.” 

 

“Stop.” Rogers commanded. “Please, just stop, okay? I get it, I get that you’re working really hard at pushing me away, but here’s the thing: I wouldn’t have gone through as much shit as I have if I didn’t care about you. I could wash my hands of it. I could just drop you off where I found you and go back to how my life was before, and just thank you for bringing Bucky back to me. But I’m not going to do that, alright? Because I think you deserve better. Because I want you to be able to take the person you are now, the person who isn’t just the guy who decided to try and take over-- I want you to have a real chance at a fresh start. And yeah, I don’t know how to give that to you yet, but--” He cut himself off, and Loki watched as he turned to look at the clock. 

 

“You’re both ambitious and optimistic. Not a realistic combination, in my experience.” Loki told him, but the words seemed to all but bounce off of Rogers, unheeded. 

 

“You know what? We have a day. I don’t care what SHIELD advises-- they released you to me, and I think we should get out of here. What do you say?” He seemed excited by the prospect, pleased, and Loki thought he looked like a child promised a gift.

 

“I think you are forgetting-- again-- just whom you are with. Were not my attacks publicized? Is there anyone, you think, who does not know who I am?” 

 

“Sure, but we can hide that. You have normal people clothes now-- I’ll give you something less notable than a SHIELD shirt, but you can wear the plain black pants… I have a couple of hats around here, we’ll stop in a convenience store and get you a hair tie and a pair of sunglasses. It’ll be fine.” 

 

“This all seems highly inadvisable.” He protested mildly, his heartbeat pounding through his veins at the suddenness of the decision, so soon after Rogers had spoken of how he could abandon him. 

 

Had he only just realized that he  _ could _ ?

 

“No, it’s great, come on. I don’t want you to be afraid of the people of Earth. I want you to see them, really see them. As one of them. Come on, it’ll be fun. I won’ take you anywhere too busy or scary, we’ll stay out of the downtown and tourist heavy areas, but let’s just… let’s go to a park, go for a walk. I can show you what Earth looks like from the ground.” 

 

“You would have me mingle with your people-- exposing them to me. Do you think it wise?” He tried to sound intimidating, though in truth he was terrified. 

 

“I think you will have a much easier time fitting in if you can see how this world works, get a handle on how people interact. Because yeah maybe you’re stronger and healthy now, but you’re still stuck with Earth-- Midgard-- for the foreseeable future, right? So let me help you figure out how to be part of it. You don’t want to be dependent on me-- I don’t blame you. Call it a… a show of faith. If I teach you how to take care of yourself here, I have to trust you won’t just leave, won’t run off on your own. Right?”

 

“I will, though.” Loki told him frankly, and crossed his arms. “If you give me a way out, I will take it. If you show me how to exist and I can find my own way, I will.” 

 

It was almost worth the crestfallen look on Rogers’s face, just forcing him to stop and acknowledge what Loki was saying. He watched as the animation faded from the Captain’s features, and he swallowed, looking down at his plate. 

 

They sat in quiet for a long minute, maybe even longer, and Loki was wondering what he could say-- what he needed to say, when Rogers finally spoke up. 

 

“What do you want, Loki? What would make you happy? What… What can I do that isn’t going to blow up on me somehow?” 

 

Loki tried to think of something, but it was difficult, with Barnes rattling around in his head. 

 

“Why do you need so badly to do well by me?” He asked instead of answering. “Why is it so important-- why do you always have to be so good?” 

 

His exasperation was obvious, as obvious as the Captain’s sorrow, and neither emotion was good, neither was helpful, neither would serve them. 

 

“I… All of the people I care about, I end up not being able to help. My mom fell sick, and I couldn’t even work hard enough to get her the medicines she needed. I was too small, too weak. And she died, and Bucky and I lived together for a while… and there was times I was too sick to hold up my end of rent, and he picked up the slack, without a fuss. And then he shipped off to war, and I wasn’t good enough to go with him.” 

 

Loki looked him over and arched a brow. Rogers shook his head though, huffing.

 

“This is all the serum. Tony’s dad and this Doctor, Erskine… they made me this. Made my body like this. But even then, I couldn’t save Erskine, and when Bucky…. when he fell, I couldn’t save him. I thought he was dead. And I saved so many people, wiping out hydra, when I went into the ice, and yet… Hydra was still here when I woke up. And most of my friends, they were dead. I wasn’t around for that. And Bucky came back, and he was… he needed my help. But I couldn’t get through to him. No one could. Not until you. I’m just tired of caring for people, and being helpless to stop their suffering. It’s not-- I’m supposed to be better than that. I need to be better than that, need to stop letting everyone down.”

 

“And so you have fixated on me as the recipient of your help.” He said flatly, unsurprised by the Captain’s motivations, wrong though his perception was, but he failed to see how that had anything to do with him. “I’m sure I should be very grateful. But if I may, why, though-- why me? Why not help someone more deserving, someone who has not wronged you and yours as greatly as I?” 

 

Rogers stared at him. 

“Because sometimes the people who do the worst things are the people who didn’t get the… they needed help, or needed something that they couldn’t find, or get… And I think you need… well, you need a chance to-- like Bucky, he needed someone who would see him as who he was then, not the Bucky I knew, not the Winter Soldier, he needed a chance to figure out who he was for himself. You’re not a Prince, or an Asgardian, and even if you’re from the land of the Frost Giants, you’re not really that either, right? So you have to define yourself. And… you can do that here, if you get the chance. I just want to try and make that… possible.” Again, he’d seemed excited, even passionate, until he had trailed off. 

“Besides,” he added, quieter. “I think you deserve it just as much as anyone. That’s why NEST exists-- why it existed. Second chances, well. It was supposed to be real second chances, not… what it turned into.”

 

Loki shifted his eyes away, unwilling to face that kind of honesty, particularly about himself. 

“Has Barnes visited Rivera yet?” He asked, latching onto the mentions of NEST instead. 

 

“No.” Rogers sounded relieved by that. Funny, Loki thought, and could not help but wonder if it was because he knew her. Even though they knew she had done wrong… or did she too deserve a second chance?

 

And Loki, did it truly count as a second chance? He he had several, hadn’t he? And still Rogers intended to make something good of him.

 

“SHIELD had her moved, it seems. Probably for fear of retribution.” 

 

_ From whom? _ Loki wanted to ask, but didn’t. 

 

“We bought out a high rise, got everybody apartments-- for all that they’re distrustful of SHIELD now, everyone that you knew from NEST seems to be doing pretty well, looking out for one another. Barton brought over the psychiatrist that he worked with after…” Rogers hesitated, and Loki nodded. 

 

“After I controlled him. And so that person is working with them now, to help them?” He pressed, curious and hopeful for the others. 

 

“They’re pretty much being counted as rehabilitated, or at least, they’re monitored, but being reintegrated into society as a whole. If they can make a good go of it for six months to a year, then they’ll have the choice to move wherever they want, and SHIELD will help set them up wherever that is. It’s the least they can do after… well after all that. And the rest of the other NEST inhabitants have been placed in a… basically it’s just an assisted care facility, but full of retired agents. So they’re being treated the same as we treat our own, now.”

 

Loki nodded his approval in response to the look Rogers gave him, like he needed and expected Loki’s objections. 

 

“That sounds wonderful. And the children-- they have returned to school?”

 

The Captain frowned. 

 

“Chris is staying with Marsha. She’s helping him get a better grip on his powers, and he has a tutor who comes in. He’s not going back to school until he is completely sure that he won’t harm anyone by accident, and until Marsha agrees with him. And Sharon is living with Melina and Curtis, who I guess are sort of a thing?” 

 

Loki nodded at that, too, not overly surprised. 

 

“But Sharon is near enough that she may visit Chris, yes?” He asked, and the expression that crossed Rogers’s face was an odd one, startled and appreciative and almost proud.

 

“Yes, they’re basically next door neighbors. They see one another every day.” 

 

Loki relaxed a little. “Good. That’s good. You see Captain, you  _ can _ do well for people-- for all of them-- it sounds as though you have made wonderful arrangements.” 

 

He watched as the other man coughed and flushed, then shook his head. 

“No, uh, not me. Most of that was Natasha and Clint’s doing. And I think Bucky advised on matters a bit.” And there was that proud look again. It belonged on his face, Loki thought. 

 

Just not when he spoke of him. Not when he was talking about a willful murderer, a would be tyrant… a man who could not help but to do wrong, even when he tried to shrink away from it. 

 

“You still haven’t told me what you want.” Rogers reminded him. 

 

“I still do not know what I want.” He returned frankly. “I do not know how to answer your questions. What made me happy in the past? My family, my responsibilities. My hope for the future. I cannot say that I have any of that now.” 

 

“Ruling for you…” Rogers said slowly. “It was about that being the only thing you knew, more than about the actual power?”

 

Loki scoffed. 

“You mustn’t think me so good, nor such a victim. I worked hard because I wanted the power promised to me. The power that Thor came by so naturally. Now I don’t have the option. It isn’t so difficult a concept.” He shrugged. 

 

“No, you know what’s difficult though?” Rogers asked. Loki lifted a brow, expecting something idiotic to come out of the Captain’s mouth. “You say you don’t belong anywhere, don’t know anything, but I offer you the chance to get out there, see some of the world, learn a little… and you’re too scared.”

 

Loki gaped, then bristled. 

“And why should I fear? I am strong enough now-- by all means, loose me on crowds of your innocents. It is not I who needs to fear, Captain.” Inwardly he winced, his knee jerk reaction of resorting to a threat hardly what he wanted to say. But it was too late now, too late to take back. The captain, though, just grinned. 

 

“Oh, stop it. You’re not that much of a cartoon character. Why not just drop the whole… stop trying to be Prince Loki, world conqueror Loki, and just… just try being you, the way you can be?” 

 

“Good, you mean. Human, if not mortal.” He finished for him, frowning, though he found himself entertaining the notion. “Because I’m not. And while I can be things that I am not, naturally, I don’t have my magic at the moment, I can’t just change into what you want me to be. But if it will make you happy, then yes, fine, let’s go out into your world. But whatever goes wrong, I want it recorded that it is your fault.” And things always went wrong, when it came to him. Always.

 

Rogers shrugged. “I’ll accept that, but I don’t think we’re going to have that problem. Come on, let’s find you a shirt. Do you wear any colors beside black and green?”

 

Habitually not, perhaps, but during his time at NEST he had had to branch out quite a bit. Scrubs, it seemed, came primarily in blues. 

 

“Why bother? You are so set on taking me with you, despite my discomfort, why should my preferences in clothing matter?” He was still snippy, still hesitant to do this. Afraid, Rogers had said. Well, he was, at that. But less for himself. At the worst, the humans would just tear him apart. But for those who tried... how would the Captain react? And what would the result be, the attitudes of the people turned against him, those who might be harmed in the process of rescuing Loki turned into guilty smears on his conscience.

 

“I'm not trying to bully you into coming into the city with me. If you really don't want to...” Doubt had returned to his voice, and Loki cursed himself quietly. 

 

Once he would have been glad to so easily unbalance the man. Now, though... Now he could barely keep himself in check, let alone be responsible for manipulating Rogers as well. And Barnes was an unexpected addition to this-- would he hear Loki's thoughts, be able to listen to the ways he used his words, his touches, his body language, to influence those around him? 

 

Would he punish him if he did things the other man objected to? 

 

There was a sense of discomfort in his mind, and Loki felt a thrum of satisfaction at that. 

 

That satisfaction faded, though, when Steve's phone rang. 

 

“It's Bucky.” He told him unnecessarily, and Loki stood instantly and walked away, giving him the privacy that Steve and Barnes no doubt would prefer to have. 

 

It seemed so unfair that for all that he had been the one in Barnes' mind, that he had been the wielder of power, he could not begin to fathom invading Barnes' thoughts the way he did Loki's. Not, he supposed, that he had much taste for it, at the moment. Not after seeing all that had been done to both he and Cynthia by those who'd had an appetite for the act.

 

He retreated to Rogers's bedroom, a tightness in his throat telling him just how terribly he felt, how much like a child who knew his misdeeds had been discovered. 

 

He didn't know what Barnes was telling Rogers, but it couldn't be good for Loki. 

 

And for all that he didn't really want to go out, the thought now of having the option taken away from him... no, his digging through the Captain's wardrobe and buttoning on the first shirt he found that seemed like it would fit him-- that was an act to mollify him when he came in. That was all. 

Dutifully dressed, Loki sat on the edge of the bed and waited for Rogers to come and reprimand him for his thoughts, to tell him off for even thinking he could get away with manipulating him now, now that he had someone whom he could actually trust burrowed deep within Loki's mind. 

 

His stomach clenched at the prospect; at how he would not even be free in his mind, in his own thoughts. He had escaped NEST and their constant video surveillance, and traded it for something much more invasive. Something much more controlling. 

 

“Hey, Loki?” Rogers finally came, minutes later than Loki would have expected, minutes after he'd hung up from the discussion with Barnes that Loki was trying very much not to listen in on. 

 

He hesitated at the threshold of his own bedroom, waiting for Loki to acknowledge him. Loki just looked up, waiting for him to say his piece, mentally bracing for it. 

 

“I'm sorry.” He said at last, obviously giving up on waiting for Loki to speak first. “Bucky called, uh, you knew that but. He told me--”

 

“I think I might pass a fair guess at what he told you. Tell me, do you feel entitled to my thoughts? Do you feel that I truly deserve to have so little of my own that even my mind should not be private?” 

 

Rogers, shifted, made uneasy and guilty about this line of questioning. 

 

Loki pressed. 

 

“I am  _ sorry _ that the way I am best able to feel safe is to manipulate others into caring for me, into being on my side. I am sorry that I did it to you, and that you bear the burden of it now. I am sorry I am ruining your life. I am going to try my best not to worsen it, and once Sin is found and the sceptre retrieved...” 

He shrugged, well aware that they had differing ideas of what would happen then. 

 

“That's not—” Rogers managed to look surprised. “Bucky was telling me off for not giving you a choice, not really. And... he said that I was making you feel like-- you're not a prisoner, or a weapon, and... look, if you don't want to go after Sin, you don't have to. We can find something else... maybe we can get Thor to come back, set him and you up with an apartment, and I'll go--”

 

“Shuffle the weight of my burden from one person to the next, you mean. Pass me off to those you can trust until the day I die. Leaving you to clean up my messes. No, Captain, I would rather take my risks with you, charge into battle half armed and unarmored and only half-hoping to survive. And if I do, I will take the sceptre and sever the connection between Barnes and myself, then, ideally, flee. You must allow me to at least free Barnes, even if you won't allow me to be rid of the rest of this. I know better than most that no one deserves to be so trapped within my mind.”

 

Anything after that was-- penance, probably. No more than he deserved. If only they would let him go, let him... start again or die or decide on his own fate, or if they would make their minds up about his role here. Make him a prisoner. Take him out of this limbo. 

 

He was tired of the half-life that he had, and it hurt knowing that he'd been so close to escaping it, only to have it forced back upon him and extended besides. 

 

“Loki,” Rogers sounded pained. “I don't--” He exhaled hard. 

“Do you remember when you were helping Bucky, when you helped him find a way to be comfortable with himself and gave him a name, and when you were learning about him from me? And you helped me to talk to him?” He asked. 

 

“You mean when I used my way with words to get close to your friend who was hurt and vulnerable, and used him to strengthen your bond to me?” Loki shot back. “Made you feel as though you were indebted to me? Yes, I remember that.” 

 

Rogers shook his head. 

 

“You could have done that without helping him the way you did. And if that was really all there was to it, when Rivera started giving you a hard time about it, you would have cut your losses and backed off, because it wouldn't have been worth sacrificing your own comfort. You aren't as bad as you think you are, as you pretend to be.” He was regarding Loki very closely, and he couldn't help but shift under the scrutiny. But Rogers pressed on.

 

“And I want to trust you, I want to think I can. But all I really need is for you to give me a chance to... to get to know you, to help you. And for you to give yourself a chance to be something you haven't been before-- the same way Bucky needed. I don't think you need a new name or anything, but I think you need to have a chance to be something outside of other peoples' expectations. And I really don't know how to give that to you, and I feel awful for not having that answer, but... That's sort of why I was hoping you'd come out with me. Come see the world, see what interests you. Maybe we can see what, if anything, we can do to help you integrate into life here easier. Because-- because I don't want you to give up on life, on Earth or in general.” 

 

 

“And you think you can give me even a taste of that opportunity, Captain?” Loki asked archly, staring up at him from his seat on the bed. 

 

“You think that you can forget the sins of my past, and not force upon me your own hopes for my future? Because you are a good man, but hardly so good as that, I think.” 

 

Rogers rolled his eyes. 

 

“This isn't some kind of test, Loki. It's a walk, maybe a cup of coffee or something. It's just... it's just a chance not to feel trapped. And to ask questions, and get a different view of the world than anything you could have had before. You don't have to be anyone in particular to go for a walk.” Some of his frustration could be heard, but all in all he was surprisingly patient. 

 

“Very well.” Loki conceded, certain that he had met his match in an argument if only for Rogers' sheer stubbornness. 

“Will I pass as normal for your world?” He asked, standing and spreading his arms. 

 

Rogers's eyes traveled down him slowly, looking, Loki was certain, for anything that may be out of place.

 

“I still think we should do something with your hair, put it up or under a hat, but yeah. Yeah, you'll do fine.” Rogers turned to go rummage through the upper shelves of his closet, his shirt slipping as he raised his arm, and showing a stretch of his own unblemished back. 

 

So far from Loki's own, which he had touched so reverently, so gently... remembering his pity made Loki's face sting.

 

He averted his eyes and turned his face away, not looking back until the other man drew nearer with the simple rounded, billed cap, which he held out for Loki to settle on his head. 

 

He did so gingerly, perching it atop his crown, but Rogers laughed. 

 

“No, here, like this--” he demonstrated by pulling it down and low, so that the outstretched edge hovered just within Loki's peripheral vision.

 

“Your clothing is ridiculous and nonsensical.” He grumbled. 

 

Rogers froze, then withdrew his hand quickly. 

“You don't have to wear it if you don't want.” He hastened to assure him. 

 

Loki rolled his eyes. 

“Leave it. If we are to venture into the world of men, I'd rather not be recognized as the monster in their midst.” 

 

Rogers frowned, but nodded. “Alright, well, if you're ready. Is there anything in particular that you want to see?” 

 

Loki bit down on a series of smart answers, caustic words all but bubbling over his tongue. 

 

“How should I know?” He settled on, though his tone was gentler than his words. “What do you like?” He asked, almost as an offering of peace. 

 

He didn't expect that Rogers should pause, his brows drawing inwards. 

 

“I--” he broke off, and Loki felt the cold crawl through his chest and dropped his eyes. 

 

Of course whatever Rogers liked, he would not want to expose to Loki, on the off chance that he could and would somehow ruin it. 

 

“It doesn't matter to me.” He said, quieter. “You should just... whatever you think is best.” 

 

He felt a sensation at the back of his mind like a caress, and he flinched. 

 

Rogers crooked his brow. 

“Loki?” He looked concerned. “Is everything okay?” 

 

“I suspect that Barnes is experimenting. It-- it doesn't feel-- well.” He changed directions, then shrugged, the stiff, thin material of the shirt sliding over his shoulders where he was narrower than the Captain. “I've no right to complain.” He finished. 

 

“You always have a right to complain.” Rogers said, maybe a little sharply. “If you didn't, how would I have known about the things going on at NEST? How would I have known that you needed surgery or... any of it? Look, even if you haven't learned anything else, you must've at least noticed that when you tell me something is wrong, I do my best to fix it.”

 

“And this? What do you plan to do? Call your friend, and tell him that the horror of his sharing my mind should not be used to discomfort me? I have caused him far greater discomfort. I deserve no less."

 

Rogers stared at him. 

 

“I don't get how you can be so fierce and angry and proud one second, how you can-- you were mad that he was telling me your thoughts, and... and you should be, I think. You're right, that kind of invasion into your privacy isn't-- it's not right, it's not fair. But then you turn around and you go quiet and apologetic and guilty and sad, and-- Is.” Rogers licked his lips. “Is Bucky saying something to make you feel—?” He sounded as though he dreaded the answer. 

 

Loki's lips twitched upwards. 

 

“Are you asking me what is going on in my head, Captain? So soon after admitting you've no right to the knowledge?” He let his wry amusement color his words, but instantly moved to put the Captain as much at ease as he could. 

 

“Your friend is doing no wrong. He is like a child worrying loose his milk teeth. And despite being... who he is now, and his hatred of me, we did spend a brief time as-- we were friends. He's done nothing to me to cause me to remember my place. But nor does he have to.” 

Rogers did not seem to know quite how to respond to that. 

 

“Alright, well... let's just-- let's go out and see what catches our eyes. It's gotta be better than being cooped up in here.” 

 

 

It seemed that though there were many cars on the road ways, it was hardly an uncommon thing for people to take to their own feet, here. Loki had somewhat assumed that enclosed transport was the norm, given that it was his experience on Midgard, but then again, most people were not being hidden or kept a secret. 

 

They had walked and then found a staircase that led downward. They had waited on an underground plateau, and then boarded a train, only to surface somewhere entirely different. 

 

He hadn't liked the train, the feeling of the speed of the carriage causing him to lurch on his feet, as though he were standing on the back of a galloping steed. He'd stumbled into Rogers, who had had to help steady him, and he had scowled and pulled away, loathe to be so reliant on him, when he had just recently regained his own legs. 

 

Now, walking among them, he was stricken by how similar the humans looked to Asgardians, so much so that a time or two he thought he saw a familiar face, and it only caused him to become concerned, worried that there would be some kind of fight. 

 

But they and everyone else simply passed by, paying him no mind at all. 

 

“Hey Cap! Cap!” A young voice called out after them, and Loki could see the way Rogers's shoulders went stiff, how, when he turned, his smile was a little forced. 

 

Loki stepped around him, then paused, pretending to admire the view of what lay within the window of the shop he stood before, though he had little idea of what it was. 

He was too busy watching in the reflection as Rogers signed the girl's proffered item-- her phone, it seemed-- and then engaged her in a brief conversation. 

 

He seemed uneasy, but he was playing along, and Loki noticed that he was not even looking in his direction. 

He could flee, run fast and far and be gone long before Rogers turned to find him. 

 

It was staggering, his realization of freedom, different from being left alone inside. He had his back to him. Loki could blend into the crowd.

He could simply disappear. 

 

But he didn't. It made no sense; Rogers was his protector. He needed to stay with him to get to the sceptre, as well as to retain his freedom, to keep himself out of the hands of SHIELD. So he stood, and waited, shifting uncomfortably until the Captain could disengage and return to him. 

 

Watching as he was, Loki was not surprised when Rogers approached him. He was surprised however, when he reached out and laid his hand on his shoulder.

 

“Thanks for waiting.” He spoke softly, so as not to be overheard. 

 

Loki turned his head, only a little, just enough that he could see Rogers' face. 

“What else was I to do? Vanish only to be apprehended? Starve because I've no coin or prospects? You seem to think me an idiot, Captain.” His voice was barely a murmur. 

Rogers just shrugged. 

 

“I just mean that you coulda run off. So thanks for not... anyway. What did you find to look at?” 

 

“I do not know.” Loki said simply, choosing to let the matter slide, despite having thought about it. He didn't need Rogers to know that. Though of course, he could not count on Barnes not to tell him. Perhaps he was keeping a diary to share all at once, a list of his crimes of thought. 

 

“Looks like a toy store.” Rogers supplied. “Do you want to go inside, check it out?”

 

Loki did not. Everything was brightly colored and strange looking, each drawn figure exaggerated uncomfortably. 

 

But Rogers was already moving to open the door, gesturing him inside, and Loki knew that hesitance on his part would look odd, out of place. Suspicious. 

So he went, moving through the doorway to be assaulted by an almost sharp smell. It wasn't like anything he was used to, harsh and unkind. The din that surrounded him was terrible, the small dogs yipping as they ran in place before suddenly flipping into the air to land on their sides, screens blaring their messages, some overtly twee and some filled with explosions. Horrifying cacophony struck him and he looked to the Captain for instruction, his face apparently betraying his emotions, because the other man laughed. 

 

“Alright, maybe not a toy store. Come on, we'll go find somewhere a little quieter.” He took hold of his arm, gently steering him back towards the door, and Loki found himself looking down at the touch and wondering if it was Rogers who was now playing the game of attempting to create a closeness. Touches and laughter, noise and color, and the impression of being trusted, the pretense of freedom... 

Barnes stirred at the back of his mind, and he silenced those thoughts for fear of being punished for them, one way or another.

 

Perhaps he was too suspicious.

 

“And better smelling, I hope,” Loki returned. Rogers cracked a smile, and then they were back out on the street, Rogers still holding Loki's arm casually and comfortably.

 

And though his feelings were conflicted, he could not help but follow, finding himself tugged along and his interest piqued by the sights of Midgard-- the pets on chains and the people, the cars and especially the buildings. 

 

Most everything seemed to be squared or rectangular, but here and there were details, differences- Loki absorbed it all but at some point fell silent, his snide remarks and murmured additions to the conversation stopping entirely, and it took some time for Rogers to catch on. 

 

“How are you feeling?” He asked, pulling them aside next to a blue box with a rounded top. 

“I am-- perhaps overwhelmed. There is so much, and the world is so large from down here.” He answered. 

 

It was not a small section of a town, kneeling before him. It was not an empty desert, nor the top of a tower, and it was certainly not a hospital or recovery room. 

 

Asgard seemed tiny in comparison, and he knew himself to be but a very small speck on this world, a very insignificant piece of all of this. 

 

“Would you like to head back?” Rogers asked. Loki nodded, grateful for his offer, as well as for the chance that this stop was giving him to breathe. 

 

“You wanna stop and grab some food first? It'll give us a chance to sit down, before we catch another train.” 

 

Loki shook his head. 

“I'd just like to go back, to have some quiet before we go rushing into fights and war, if you don't mind.” 

 

Rogers looked a little stricken, as though he'd forgotten, but he nodded. 

 

“Yeah, yeah of course. I'm um, let me get a cab. We'll skip the train, make it a little more quiet now. How's that sound?” He seemed apologetic, and Loki nodded, grateful again. 

 

“I would appreciate that. To be clear, however-- I enjoyed being out, it is merely... I am not used to so many sources of stimulation. I do not want you to begin blaming yourself again for attempting to do well by me.” Loki was the one to initiate the contact this time, laying his hand along the skin of Rogers' forearm. 

 

The Captain looked down, then grinned a little crookedly. 

 

“Alright. Wait here, okay? I'm just going to grab us that taxi.” 

Seemingly in better spirits than he had been, he waved down a driver, and they returned to his home, Loki's eyes shut steadfastly and his breathing forced into evenness to fight the warmth he could feel radiating from his brow, and the exhaustion he felt in his bones.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, trying to get back in the hang of writing this.   
> I'm still working twelve hour shifts on set at the moment, but hopefully when that ends, I will be able to devote more time to sitting down and finishing this. :)


	17. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dun Dun DUNNNNNNN

The plane they took, in contrast to the city, was surprisingly quiet. Perhaps if Loki had been able to become accustomed to the sounds of people and traffic the same way he had to the low hum of the engines, he’d have had a better time of it. But that was of no importance.

He found himself thinking that perhaps next time, he might do better, but then he remembered that there was to be no next time, if he had his druthers. They would get to Germany, retrieve the sceptre, and even if he did not reclaim all of his power, he would at least be able to take himself out of the eyes of those watching him, could step between worlds, return to Asgard… perhaps even bespell Odin, reclaim what was his. And why should he not?

It wasn’t as though Odin truly had the right to deny him his seidhr, his years… he had denied him his name, his nature… and Loki was neither his son not his subject.

The thoughts were like a scrape, not yet healed, that hurt to touch and yet demanded to be stroked, toyed with, the pain somehow pleasant and the distraction it offered just on this side of tormenting.

 

“Looks like she’s moving.” Rogers spoke, and Loki scowled, breaking free of his thoughts.

“What?”

“We just got a report from the people monitoring her for us, back at SHIELD. It looks as though Sin has left the village and is headed for the hold. We may not have the luxury of hiking in.” Rogers sounded… regretful, Loki supposed, about that, but at the same time his voice had changed, too, taking on the pitch of the Captain, commanding and authoritative.

Falling into the role. No doubt the same spark of adrenaline that Loki was feeling now was to blame for the change.

“How far away are we?” Loki inquired, cautious, because the idea of not being able to hike sounded quite a lot like they may be attacking from air, or worse-- jumping from the plane as it moved.

The last time he’d had that particular pleasure, he’d been held by Thor and by and large invulnerable. He no longer had the magic pooling within him to heal any damage, so he was much less eager to repeat the experience. Especially after having just escaped the time he’d spent trapped in his own weak and failing form.

“Good question. I’m going to go check in with the pilot. You sit tight.”

He watched as Rogers unstrapped himself and moved forwards to the front of the small craft and held on to his own safety straps, despite the smoothness of the ride.

The hum of the engines must have been louder than he realized, or Rogers had intentionally lowered his voice, because Loki could not hear the words they exchanged. He didn’t like that, didn’t like the fact that they could make decisions and exchange information, and he should be excluded, given that he was supposed to go into this fight more bare and vulnerable than ever.

When Rogers returned he looked-- if not eager, at least alert, excited… determined. It wasn’t a look he’d seen on him since Sin had escaped with the sceptre, and it was disconcerting seeing it directed at him. He looked grim, set, as though he didn’t look forward to it, but meant to do what he needed to. Like Thor had, coming for him, to stitch his lips together.

Loki flinched and slammed his eyes shut as Rogers reached for him, expecting, for some reason, to be hurt, expecting to be thrown from the plane, only to feel the Captain’s fingers brushing behind his ear and depositing something there.

The look on his face when Loki opened his eyes was inscrutable, frozen and stony, and yet Loki felt certain that his reaction had caused offense. He cleared his throat and looked down, feeling embarrassed and unsure what he could say to apologize and make it clear that he hadn’t meant it as a slight against Rogers. Still, the Captain said nothing about it, instead using the communication device he’d just placed to speak directly into Loki’s ear.

“We’re going to arrive in about five minutes, basically next door to the base. Sounds like most of the fighting is going on inside already--  Sin only walked in with one other person, an ex-SHIELD Agent by the name of Brock Rumlow, and we know from experience that you can only trust the guy as far as you can throw him. Given her current age, that’s not real far at all. So I need you to brace for the possibility that she is already down when we get there-- in which case, it’s just about getting the sceptre and getting out. Okay? I know you knew her, but… no revenge, not this time.”

“Captain, what about me makes you think I would endanger myself for someone else’s sake? You mistake me for your heroic friends.” He gave him a disapproving look, mouth curling upwards mockingly, though it only served to hide his embarrassment at his floundering. And the realization that, even thinking he’d be hurt, he hadn’t raised his hands against Rogers.

Probably because he knew he deserved whatever was coming to him. Much like Brock Rumlow did, though for different reasons.

“Do consider though that Rumlow has reasons to be loyal to Sin, or at least not to betray her, which is not necessarily the same. When she has been older than she is now, they were partners, and intimate ones at the least, if not traditionally romantic.”

Rogers’s mouth firmed into a thin line, and Loki could see the way his words were not surprising to him. So he’d known that already, but hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Loki could understand. His stomach churned with the remembered emotions that Cynthia had felt upon regaining some of those memories-- but Rogers wasn’t privy to those. He had said Rumlow was ex-SHIELD. Loki had to wonder if they’d known one another, if they had been close. If the Captain had more reason to dislike the situation than he was letting on.

Had to wonder just how many of the people that Rogers had chosen to trust had ended up betraying him.

The way Loki meant to do.

He felt Barnes stirring at the back of his mind, a sensation like blankets rustling, like a bedmate beginning to wake. He drove his thoughts away from such an incriminating path of thought.

“Well. Whatever the case, I need you to just stick close, have my back, follow my lead, and we’ll get in, get the sceptre, and get out.” Rogers looked flustered, and like perhaps he had wanted to respond somehow differently, but had swallowed the urge.

Loki just inclined his head. He wasn’t going to pick fights now. There were larger things to be concerned with.

They were allied until they reached the sceptre. From there… He turned his thoughts aside, again, well aware that he was not at liberty to think ahead, to make plans. Not any more.

But soon...

 

\---

 

The process of deplaning was much simpler and less horrifying than Loki might have feared.

The pilot lowered them until the belly of the vehicle was skimming the top of the grass, and the Captain casually opened a small side door and stepped down, then reached up to help Loki out. He ignored his hand, of course, but the point remained. It was simple, it did not involve danger, and it was, altogether, not what he had expected.

But judging by the briefing that Rogers had given him, he didn’t suppose the situation was quite what he had envisioned, either.

There were no shots being fired, no men rushing to stop them. Just he and Rogers left standing alone on grass that swayed and bent but seemed otherwise undisturbed, and the plane lifted up and went to circling, apparently reaching a safe height and distance before engaging stealth mode and waiting to be called back to retrieve them.

From there, it was only a short sprint to the entrance of the base, and from the bodies they had to step over to cross the threshold, it seemed the Captain’s intelligence was correct; Sin was here.

It was quiet, though, frighteningly so, and until they walked in further, it was impossible to say why.

The first several rooms they came to were empty.

There were bodies in the corridor, but not enough. Scattered ones and twos, no sign of the mass of men that should be in a base this size. Loki could tell Rogers was feeling nervous about that, too.

“Any word from SHIELD?” He asked, speaking to the pilot, Loki could only assume. “We’re not seeing any-- oh.” They stopped in their tracks, Loki’s heart beating so loudly he felt certain that each man within must hear it. But they did not move, did not turn to face them, did not react at all.

 

As Rogers led them cautiously through a door into a room full of Hydra members who simply stood there, Loki began to understand.

“Sin has made use of the sceptre-- these men, look at their eyes.” As an outsider, it was borderline horrific. Or perhaps after speaking with Barnes, learning what this sort of violation was like… not exactly the same, but close enough.

As one, every head in the hall turned to face them. Each mouth fell open and, as one, each one spoke with the same cadence, at the same time, but with different acccents, different voices.

“You’re too late, Captain. Hydra is mine now.” Such simple sentences but all at once, so that their impact could almost be felt.

“Sin?” Rogers called, his voice raised and booming, as if to combat the loudness of so many. Loki shivered at the command in it, the utter lack of fear.

“It’s not too late, if you surrender now, we’ll take you back. We want to help you.”

But Loki doubted that she would respond to that; it was impersonal. And from someone that she had never known, when she knew kindness. It would not appeal to her humanity-- what she may have reclaimed of it.

“We’ll return you to Chris and Sharon, you can go back to school. You can learn how to be a child again, go back to those who love you…” Loki trailed off when an army’s worth of eerily similar laughter echoed through the hall. His breath caught, and he realized he’d been wrong.

“Bring them.” It was only Sin’s voice, this time. She glared out at them from the doorway of a room at the far end of the hall, for only a moment before she turned to go back inside. But she had the sceptre with her. He tried to point it out, opened his mouth to be sure Rogers had seen it too, when a touch distracted him, kept him from speaking.

All around them, suddenly, hands were in motion, pushing them, turning them, shifting them, shuffling after her, not lifting, but pulling them forward down an aisle formed from a lack of bodies, though the press of them to either side was enough to make Loki feel the same sort of panic that he had on the street before.

Rogers’s jaw was locked and he kept his eyes straight ahead on the door, cooperating as far as he was able, and Loki felt oddly abandoned by him then, being propelled into who knew what, and he wouldn’t so much as look at him.

He’d expected if either of them was to betray the other-- well.

There was not enough time to be concerned by this, because Sin had come back into view. Before her, a form knelt, his head bowed low, and another stood back behind her. Loki did not know these people, but it seemed the Captain did. He stiffened.

“Sin.” He said her name like a warning, but she stood perfectly still, her face placid. Though her eyes flicked up to his face, she didn’t say anything to acknowledge him. Instead, her gaze settled on Loki, and he nearly took a step backwards at the loathing he saw on her childish features.

“You wanted me to learn how to be loved, Loki, was that what you said?” Her expression smoothed, but her eyes and voice were harder than he had ever heard them. Only made worse by her next words; “Tell me,” She said, nearly purring them, “what would you know about that?”

Loki flinched.

She was so young, so small, and that became all the more obvious when the man behind her stepped forward and draped a possessive hand over her shoulder. She looked discomforted by the touch, but did not object to it. And he understood why, he knew. But Loki felt himself bare his teeth at the man, loathing him for who he was, for what he had agreed to do. For the way he moved, the way his lips twitched upwards unpleasantly-- for what he represented to Sin.

This man swung his arms and exaggerated his step much as Thor had, once. He had strength and knew it, expected everyone to kneel before him our get out of his path. Loki didn’t like him, and liked even less the way Sin was cringing away from his closeness, even though her face did not change.

“Long time no see, Cap.” The man greeted, his superficial calm laced with an undertone of restrained malice. Loki’s eyes darted to Rogers, hoping he would have some other reaction, something like assurance that he could beat this man. But his jaw had tensed, and he seemed cautious-- almost concerned. It was the first time since they’d gotten here that Rogers seemed to be less than certain about their odds. Loki’s gut wrenched at that, but he hid it behind a mask of apathy.

“Rumlow.” Rogers greeted, and took a step forward, but Sin halted the motion by lifting the sceptre to point at him, at chest level.

“I wouldn’t.” She spoke lightly. “After all, you have no idea what it’s like, having other people in your head. Pretty sure you’d like to keep it that way.” She smiled, and it was easy to see where she’d learned such an expression when Rumlow was right behind her, his face stretched into an eerie mirror image. Loki suspected that if she knew, she would hate it.

“If you’re not going to try and take us over, why’d you bring us here?” Rogers asked, and Loki thought it was a good point.

“I didn’t want you tearing your way through my army. I may need them later.” She said with a shrug, and the words sounded wrong in her voice, too high and light and sweet for the things it implied. “And besides.” She moved suddenly, kicking the shoulder of the man kneeling before her and sending him toppling backwards, onto his tied hands. “I thought you should bear witness to this.”

Loki winced as the man’s face became visible, if it could be called as much. For a moment, he thought the skin had been stripped away, thought that she had flayed him where he sat, but after the initial repulsion, it became clear that there was skin there, it was even and textured unlike the muscle of a face… this was his face, red and taut and macabre.

“You’ve not forgotten my father, surely.” Sin said, her eyes on Loki and his reaction. He turned his gaze back to her face, only vaguely able to visualize her memories, as he’d seen them. As he’d felt them.

A creeping feeling like being ill climbed in him, a sense of dread, and horror, and something else… hatred. Some of it barely remembered, but some of it too fresh, and yet too distant--

Barnes.

Loki cursed mentally. This was no time for his unfortunate parasite to be interfering. He needed his senses for this, unmuddied by the confusion that Barnes created. He looked back down to the man-- the monster-- on the floor, and did not fail to notice how none had moved to help him.

“I remember him.” Loki said softly. “But what have you made him remember?”

 

The blue that swirled through his eyes stood bright against the red of his skin, and it was clear that he was not himself, not in control. Hydra is mine, Sin had said. Clearly, that was true; she held the mind of its men, as well as the mind of its leader.

The Red Skull was not fighting, not trying to get up, he was not even seeing them. But he twitched a bit, head lolling from side to side as though he were having bad dreams. Or thought he was living them.

“All the memories of him that you gave me back--now I’m letting him live through them on my side of things.” Her voice wavered, ever so slightly, as she said it, and Loki snapped his eyes up to hers again.

“Do you feel better, now that he is suffering as you did?” He asked, trying to keep his tone gentle, though he knew his words were not.

“Of course not!” She snapped, and Rogers put out a hand towards Loki, clearly intending to silence him. But the way her voice wavered gave Loki some hope, however small, for her humanity, for the fact that the person he’d known was in there, still.

“What are you planning to do with him, with this army of yours?” Rogers asked, his voice quiet now, soft and even-- the same sort of voice he’d used on Loki in his sick bed. And Loki saw the way she stiffened, the way anger flashed on her face a bare moment before she lunged--

\--and sent the sceptre’s blade through her father’s throat.

Rumlow dodged around her, catching Rogers head on when he attempted to spring towards her, and through the grunt and other sounds of their collision, Loki heard her say, softly,

“Whatever I want.”

There seemed to be no real joy to the words.

And then she was turning away.

 

Loki looked back at Rogers and saw him holding his own against Rumlow, and knew that he couldn’t help-- if he did, Sin would be lost, and the sceptre with her.

“Sin!” He called. He went after her, stepping over the man who lay in a puddle of blood, only a few shades darker than his skin.

He deserved to die, Loki reminded himself. What he had seen of Sin’s life, he knew that much. And Barnes, at the back of his mind, was smug about that. But as he turned his back on Rogers, he felt a pull-- Barnes would have him stay to fight. Loki shook it off, ignoring the discomfort it caused, ignoring the feeling like impending vomit rising, at the thought of Sin killing her own father-- but then, who was he to feel that way? He’d tried, repeatedly. He was here as punishment for the same exact crime. And yet--

Barnes did something to himself again, nothing disabling, nothing that hurt so bad as the last time, but it was clear he meant to punish Loki, meant to convince him to go back to Rogers’ side.

“No.” He grunted out, and pulled the damaged feeling arm close to his chest.

“Sin, please, wait-- where will you go? What will you do?”

He’d spent so long here with only his words on his side. He would not hurt her, he knew. Not if he could help it. But he needed the sceptre. It was his only hope, his only chance of regaining what was his; what was owed him. Barnes was all but thrumming with fury in the back of his mind at his betrayal.

“Leave me alone.” She called back, a pointed gesture with the sceptre sending a blast of power directly at him. He fell but stumbled back to his feet quickly.

“It won’t be enough, Sin. Being free of him, it’s not going to make it better.”

She stopped, her back still to him, but he could see the way her shoulders tensed. A fear, then. Something she worried was the truth. In speaking blindly, he’d landed on an exposed nerve. He took a deep breath.

“What you feel now, I cannot begin to guess. I am not like you, I have not lived your life. I wouldn’t presume to act as if I have an answer for your troubles.” He didn’t want to push her away by drawing her too close.

“But I-- as you said. What would I know of love? It seems to me you’ve an opportunity for it. Two, even. Sharon and Chris love you.” The words were difficult to force out of his mouth, and his tongue tripped over it, the second time he said ‘love’. But it seemed his gambit was working.

“I killed somebody. A lot of somebodies. I just killed my dad.” She pointed out, turning to face him, and though the sceptre was raised, she did not attack. Not immediately, at least.

“And it is probably for the best that you did.” Loki reassured her, though the way his stomach clenched and churned evidenced that he was lying. She needn’t know that, though. He pressed on, taking another couple of steps forward.

“If you hadn’t, and Chris found out what he’d done to you-- all the things he had done to you-- what do you suppose Chris would have done? He and Sharon are so protective of you. Do you remember the day we met?”

She stared at him, a faint furrow between her brows and her eyes slightly unfocused.

“Chris had to be talked down from attacking me, because I lifted my empty hand towards you, remember? I was in a chair then. And you didn’t know where you came from or who you are. But it didn’t matter. Chris wanted to keep you safe. And do you remember, when we realized something was amiss? Everyone came together. They built a room to hide you from the people who had taken your memories from you. To protect you.”

“But I’m not--” She began, then stopped.

“What? You aren’t what they thought you were? Fine. Give them the chance to meet who you are now. They may even help you to find the balance of what you were, what you are… and what you want to become. That’s your choice now, no one else’s.” He spoke with a little more urgency, suddenly aware of how quiet it was.

There were no more sounds of struggle. One way or another, the fight seemed to be over.

 

Barnes gave him another strong tug, urging him to go back, to check on Rogers.

“I’m not good like them.” She said instead.

Loki laughed.

“Do you remember where you met them? Why everyone was there? You are like them, just the same. At least in every way that matters. There is no reason why you cannot make the choice to go with them, to make changes, no reason you cannot decide who you want to be, now.”

“I am not so weak.” She said, drawing herself up, and suddenly he saw in her the creature she had been made into, again. None of the girl she had been. But it lasted only for a moment. She seemed to deflate, her shoulders angling inwards, making her smaller.

“But Brock--” she sounded young, but stopped as suddenly, she realized too. “Fight’s over.” She said, voice lower, taking on her more adult timbre again. But it shook. She wasn’t sure of the outcome, no faith in Rumlow.

No idea who won. Like him. Though there was dread there-- because he knew which of the two of them he’d want to see coming after them.

Loki swallowed.

“If he won… If you want to go back, I can call a helicopter to take you. And I will hold him here. But I need the sceptre to do that.”

She looked at him for another long moment, her eyes studying him, searching for a sign of a lie.

 

“I’m not afraid of him.” She told him suddenly, the youthful stubbornness he heard from her somehow perfectly seated between what he’d known of her before and what he knew of her now.

“I did not say you were. Only that I would help if you need it. And…” He hesitated, but it seemed like the best option here was honesty. She’d been lied to enough. “I want to see that you are given opportunities, I want to see you safe, and happy, if you can be. But I also need the sceptre. I cannot begin to rebuild my life without it, and I need…”

 

“Loki!”

 

The Captain shouted his name from behind them, and Loki turned to see him hurrying their way. He turned back to Sin, no longer masking his urgency.

“Please.” He asked her, passion born of desperation painting his tone. “Give us both the chance.” He stepped forward and she raised the sceptre to him-- and as he took it and turned to look at Rogers, he called forth the power to move, to step between worlds and escape.

“Heimdall!” Rogers called, and then several things happened simultaneously.

The bifrost opened. Rogers slammed into him. Loki attempted to slide between worlds. The sceptre pierced Rogers’ chest. Sin screamed. Barnes slammed against his consciousness with the force of a stampede of horses. The world twisted and exploded in light and sound. He felt as though he was being turned inside out. He held on to the Captain tightly, afraid now to let go, lest he be lost in the in between.

Loki screamed.

 

  
And then they landed.


	18. Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter (sorry bout it, hon, this's just the WORST timing) to Lena. It's her birthday on Tuesday and she is the best Loki/Steve cheerleader ever, so make sure you drop by her tumblr and wish her the best!
> 
> Mind the new tags, by the way. If that's not up your alley, I don't blame you-- I wrote my worst fear, this chapter. So proud.

The ground under them fell away beneath his feet, and Loki collapsed to his knees, instantly aware of the cold and the hot blood that, in stark contrast, ran down the sceptre and onto his hands. 

He threw the weapon aside and surged forward to where The Captain had fallen. 

“ You idiot, you  _ fool _ .” He hissed, giving no attention to anything else while he pulled Rogers’ hands aside so that he could assess the damage. 

The cut was deep, but it did not seem to have punctured anything too important-- probably he would live. Provided Loki got him out of the snow that he was laying in, and managed to cover the scarlet of his blood that was coloring it even now-- sure signs of weakness to any predators. And given that he had no idea where they were, he had to guard against the possibility of  _ anything _ .

“ Yeah well.” Rogers began, but fell silent when he looked up at Loki with eyes turned suddenly fearful. 

“ I did not mean-- I am not going to hurt you.” Loki reassured him, reaching out to gentle him with the briefest of touches to his face, but his eye fell on his own hand and he jerked away. 

“ _ No _ !” It was pulled from his lips and he fell backwards and scuttled away, though he knew he could not escape this. 

He turned his back to the Captain and looked down at his hands, heart racing. He pulled at his sleeves, trying to tell how far up the aberration extended. 

He put his hands to his face and felt for the ridges which-- 

\--were there. 

He shuddered and pulled his hands back, disgusted. 

“ Loki?”

“ A moment, Captain.” The words were a strangled snarl. 

“ Sure, take your time. Just-- you’re blue, I’m bleeding, there’s a lot of cold stuff on the ground, and I don’t know where we are. Do you?” There was an edge of panic in his voice that Loki could only imagine came of his change.

Loki scoffed. 

“I have a fairly good idea, yes.” His words were icy, and he could feel Barnes fluttering at his head, like the beats of a bird’s wings against his chest, but from far away. 

Their link was not as strong here, he noted with satisfaction.

At least he didn’t have to worry about  _ that _ , atop all the rest. He had enough concerns with his skin suddenly deep blue and horrific.

He also had no magic, save that granted by the sceptre. 

As soon as the idea came, he dropped to his hands and knees, wading through the snow towards it. 

“Please!” 

The sheer terror in The Captain’s voice was what made him turn to look.

He lay there, one hand clasped to his wound, the other outstretched towards Loki, unaware of the damage that he invited with the attempted touch. 

“ Please  _ what _ , Captain?” Loki asked, low and dangerous. 

“ Please-- don’t.” He watched his throat work as he swallowed. “Don’t leave me here. I… can’t.” 

“ You would rather be stranded with a monster than without one, is that it?” Loki mocked softly. 

“ I’m hurt. I don’t know where I am. I don’t… like the cold.” And it was laughable, it really was, if it didn’t sound so resigned and pitiful. 

“ I am not trying to leave you, I am trying to fix my body so that I don’t  _ destroy you _ , instead of helping.” He snapped the words but there wasn’t real anger in them; he didn’t know he had the energy for it. 

In his mind, Barnes was still battering away, as if he could punch through the distance. 

Loki took up the sceptre and frowned.

He’d had his magic before, but now it was utterly gone. He’d burned the last of the dregs within himself on the trip here, and he had no way to take them anywhere else. He cursed. 

“ _ Now  _ what?” Rogers asked, a shiver negating part of the annoyance in his voice. 

“ I have… I cannot transport us. I cannot mend my form. And I have no further magic, save that which is stored in the sceptre-- so only the mental abilities it gives me.” 

Reaching out within himself using it, he offered a tenuous link to Barnes. 

“ So we’re stuck here?” Rogers asked, and this time his fear was much more apparent. 

Loki felt Barnes startle, then realize what was going on, and surge forward, in the direction of Loki’s mind, in the direction of Rogers’ upset. 

“Steve!” Loki’s mouth moved without his permission, and Barnes pushed their body to stumble towards Rogers. 

Loki stopped it, just in time to avoid hurting the man. 

_ Idiot! Stop. You are in my body-- look at the hands!  _

Loki’s vision lowered, and his hands came into view-- blue and horrible, sceptre grasped in one tight fist, and Barnes quailed.

“ What’s happening?” He demanded.

“ I don’t know, you’re scaring me. What--” Rogers had struggled into a sitting position. “Loki please, put the sceptre down.” 

“ It’s okay Steve,” Barnes hurried to say, lowering the sceptre. “I--” 

and then he was back in Loki’s mind, no longer able to communicate, no longer able to take him over. 

“ _ Idiot. _ ”  Loki said again, this time with his own lips. 

“ What the hell, Loki?” Rogers sounded concerned and exhausted.

“ The sceptre allows the link between Barnes and I to be strengthened, but only so long as I hold it, it seems.” He frowned. “And apparently it is strengthened to the point of his being able to take my body from me and bend it to his will. If that happens, you mustn’t allow him to touch you. My skin can burn.” His heart was pounding and he felt shaky. 

First Barnes could invade his thoughts, and now his body. He felt oddly violated, uncomfortable… like he no longer had anything of his own. It left him feeling bereft.

“ So that- that was Bucky, but as you?” Rogers’s voice was beginning to sound more distant.

“I was trapped in my own mind.” Loki said, no small amount of horror in the statement. 

But his eyes fell on Rogers and the way he was swaying. His bleeding appeared to have been increased by his sitting up.

Damn, but he looked like he might pass out. Loki looked around, unable to see very far at all, thanks to the snowfall. He looked back down at the sceptre. 

He was not eager to repeat the experience of selflessness. Of loss of himself. 

He struggled to his feet in the unsteadiness of the snow, sinking in several inches further in the process. 

“ Rogers, listen to me now. Are you listening?” 

“ Mmhm?” he sounded dazed.

“ I am going to leave you, though not for long. I will go fifty paces, and then return. I need to find a shelter for you. I need you to stay awake, can you do that? Do not fall asleep.” 

“ Don’t-- don’t leave.” He was pleading, voice gone sharp again in his apparent terror. He was shivering now, huddling into his clothing, and Loki pulled at his jacket, draping it around the Captain’s back.

“ You need that… though.” He was alert but his eyes didn’t seem to be focusing, and he sounded distant.

“ I won’t go far. Count with me, count my paces, are you ready?” Loki asked. He exaggerated lifting his foot up out of the snow and putting it down, taking off in the direction that seemed the darkest-- hoping that meant shelter. “One.”

Thirty nine paces away, he found a small rocky outcropping. Very small. Beside it were a row of dead trees, or nearly dead trees. But nothing that seemed like it would fully cut off either the wind or the snow.

He returned to Rogers. 

“ Ok? Rogers? Can you count with me again?” He adjusted his course a little and set out once more, back and forth he went, as quickly as he could, so that eventually Rogers sat bleeding in a circle beside the sceptre, in the center of a wide fan of radiating lines. 

But there didn’t seem to be much that was workable. Loki returned to the trees and tested their strength, finding them surprisingly easy to topple. 

He propped them on the rocks, so that they leaned against it and lay beside one another, forming a sort of lean to. 

That done, he dropped to his knees and climbed inside, scooping the snow up and pressing it to the back to cut off the wind from that direction. 

There was no end to the snow, though, no escape-- it seemed to go one forever, only becoming harder the further down he got. 

He didn’t know how Rogers was going to be able to warm up, like he needed to, but this would at least get him out of the direct exposure to the elements. 

When Loki returned to him, Rogers’s eyes were closed and his breathing slowed-- 

“ No, Rogers, wake up! Stay with me!” He couldn’t let him sleep. Too many people went into the cold not to wake again, and he was mortal. It would be so easy to lose him.

He roused slightly, eyes opening to slits and he murmured something utterly unintelligible. But he was alive. 

He couldn’t grasp him very well, for fear of hurting him, but he could grip his clothing and drag him in that way, so he did. 

It was perhaps not unexpected, but the work made Loki feel more than comfortably warm, but actually hot, and so he began shedding the clothes he wore. Once they were off, though, he realized they could be of use-- it wasn’t much, but they would form a layer between Rogers’ body and the snow. He maneuvered Rogers in on top of them, and considered, for a moment, laying himself in alongside the man. But he could not risk touching him, nor could he risk his body sapping yet more heat from him.

He looked the man over, glad that the room was at least insulated somewhat, but still not satisfied; cold air was still drifting in from the spaces between the trees. 

And Rogers was still bleeding. He could see the way he tried to huddle into himself, and how the cold bothered him, but how the motions sent more fresh red pouring out through the hole in him. Loki swallowed and clenched his eyes shut tightly. He didn’t know what to do. 

He went back for the sceptre, taking the short walk as a chance to clear his mind-- but the moment he touched the shaft of the weapon, his mind was anything but cleared. 

“ Where is he? Loki,  _ what have you done? _ ”  The accusation came from his own mouth, and he felt the anger, the fear, as real as though it were his own. 

_ We need to hide the blood so that nothing follows its smell to him. And… I need you to tell me how to stop his bleeding. _

He could not sound as though he were in charge, not like this, not knowing that their current plight was entirely his fault. 

Barnes only hesitated for a moment, then began using the sceptre and his feet to cover the scarlet snow with bright white. 

“ There. It’s done. Take me to him.” 

_ To your left. _

He resented being unable to control his own body, but having someone else there with them, even if only in him, was reassuring, somehow. 

“ Jesus, Stevie.” Barnes breathed, upon seeing the state of him, and the lean-to that Loki had cooked up. 

_ What can we do? I can’t touch him; my skin will burn.  _

“ Burn you or him?” Barnes demanded, words sharp, and Loki would have flinched if he had a body to do so with. It wouldn't matter, he realized, if it would hurt Loki. He was disposable. He felt an ache that seemed almost physical, at the thought.

_ Him. I’m much too cold, now.  _

“ No, that’s perfect. Burn-- you mean frostbite, right? That’s just skin freezing, blood freezing. Just touch the cut, freeze it a little. Just seal the blood inside of him. He’s good-- his healing will do the rest if you can do that and get him warmed up.” 

Loki tensed. 

_ I don’t know how to control it. What if I do too much damage?  _

Barnes snarled through his mouth, and put his palm flat against Roger’s chest, where the damage was. 

Only for a moment, the briefest touch, and he took it away when Rogers bucked under him. 

“Almost there Steve, hang on just a second. I’m just sealing up the gash, it’s gonna hurt real quick again, and then you’ll be okay, alright? Here we go.” 

Barnes used just Loki’s forefinger, this time, and got the last of it, stopping the blood entirely. 

“ Buck?” Rogers mumbled, blinking hard. 

“ Where are you? I’ll go to Sam, I’ll get the word to SHIELD.” 

“ I don’t-- Buck, I don’t  _ know _ .” The Captain’s voice was plaintive; scared. 

_ Jotunheim.  _ Loki told Barnes.  _ You must have them tell Thor-- we are on Jotunheim. I know not where. Heimdall will have to find us. _

“ Jotunheim? You-- this is a different  _ planet? _ ”  Barnes demanded, and Rogers recoiled as if he’d been slapped. 

_ Go now, Barnes. With haste. It is day yet here, but I fear… I fear the Captain will not last the night.  _

Barnes dropped the sceptre just in time to cut off a verbalized wail, but Loki heard-- felt-- it, just the same. 

“ Loki?” 

“ It’s me now, Captain, yes.” He moved away, his bloodied hand curled close to his chest so that Rogers would not have to see it. 

“ Is it true? We’re-- we’re on Jotunheim?” His voice shook, and Loki could sense the hopelessness that was preying upon him now. 

“ It is true. But Barnes is going to go and tell the others. Once they reach Thor, it will be well. Unless-- You called Heimdall before. That was how we came to be here-- I took us in one direction and the bifrost in another, and that sent us away from either goal. Is there any chance--if you call the Bifrost again, perhaps they will save you. Perhaps they will take you to Asgard, where you can be warm, and heal. I need you to try.” 

He couldn’t go back to Asgard. They would not allow him back. And certainly not like this. He’d be killed. 

But if they would take Rogers… 

“ What will they do to you?” The words were thick, and Rogers’s tongue sounded heavy in his mouth.

“ Try, Rogers. Please.” Loki made his own intentionally flat, free of emotion. 

“ What if--” Rogers began, but Loki interrupted. 

“ What if you  _ die _ , Captain? What if, just by knowing me, I have caused this for you? And if you do, none will believe me innocent. I will die just as surely as you, if you are not saved. At least make the attempt. I may be spared, if you do.” 

Rogers frowned, then shook his head.

“ No.” 

“ _ Heimdall! _ ”  Loki called out himself, stepping closer to the shelter. “Heimdall, Captain Rogers is dying! I would  _ beg _ you for aid-- save him!” Loki yelled it to the sky, and stood there for several long seconds, feeling like a fool when there was no answer. 

At long last he let his shoulders slump. He stooped and cleaned the blood from his hands and moved in closer to where Rogers sat, lowering himself to the ground so that he could look inside. 

Rogers had moved, putting himself further from the rock wall and closer to the trees.

That must be radiating cold as well, Loki realized, and felt even more like a failure. He’d taken The Captain out of the wind and put him into the shadows, next to something that would only leech the warmth from him.. 

“ It will be dark soon, and it will only become colder. Have you any means of starting a fire?” He did not look at the Captain, his chest as cold as the world around them at the thought of how likely it was that he should lose him, this night.

“ I’ve got matches in my belt, as long as they didn’t get wet.” 

Loki nodded and stood. 

“ I will gather pieces from the trees above your head. They are dead and dry, and will burn for a time.” The entire back tree could be lost if necessary, he thought. As long as he could build up the snow high enough to block the wind, and as long as the fire did not catch the other trees… 

“ Loki? You’re-- You’re naked.” The Captain sounded confused, doubtful, as if he did not believe what he saw. As if he had only realized this was the case.

“ My clothes are beneath you. This body was made for this world. I will be fine.” He retreated then, unwilling to speak any more about what his having this body meant, about the fact that the scars on his back now blended in with the lines that covered the entire rest of him. 

With any luck, Rogers would be too busy attempting to survive to worry about it any further. 

When he returned, an armful of kindling ranging up to a small log, Rogers had pulled Loki’s jacket on around his own shoulders, and tucked the shirt and pants under himself where he sat now. 

“ I’ve got six matches, so it’s better not to waste them.” He looked very serious, and Loki noted the way he averted his eyes, stared at the ground. 

“ You should use them, then. I’d be afraid my skin would create ice and ruin them.” Loki knelt and sat down the wood, arranging smaller pieces before Rogers, careful to place it near the wall of rock. 

“Matches are wood, same as you’re handling there. But that’s fine, I can do this.” He seemed more lucid, at least; Loki was glad of that. “I have a bit of--” He pulled a small pad of paper from his belt as well and flipped it open from the back, pulling out a few sheets and crumpling them. 

“ Kindling.” He explained with a shrug. Loki nodded, then raised a hand to still him when he lifted the matches. 

“ Wait a moment.” Loki told him. “I am going to seal some of the gaps above with snow, so that the wind does not ruin your attempt and waste your match.” 

Rogers nodded, looking grateful, and Loki went to work, careful to leave the area above what would soon be a fire with any luck, open. It would be an almost comical tragedy if they got the fire started, just long enough to melt the snow above it and sent it sputtering out.

Loki made quick work of it, the process much easier with so much snow around, and he built the back wall thicker while he was at it, too-- so if he did have to remove one of the logs later, he could.  

“ Alright.” He said, seating himself back at the opening of what now looked a little like a faux cave. 

Rogers’ face seemed very pale, and Loki felt his brow furl. 

“ Has something else gone wrong?” He asked, concerned. 

“ No. It’s fine. I’m fine.” Rogers spoke quickly and began fumbling with his matches. Loki reached out as if to touch him again, meaning to still his hands, but stopped short when his own came back into view. 

“ Calm yourself first. Steady your hands-- don’t waste any chances you have of survival.” 

“ Why are you doing this?” Rogers asked, and Loki heard the shake in his voice, the chattering of his teeth. The sun was dipping low, the cold was setting in, and he was afraid. He rubbed his hands together, obviously trying to loosen the stiffness he was experiencing, and from the way he was moving-- each movement slow and rocky, it seemed it was not just his hands. His jaw looked tight, and his neck was bunched as if he were straining.

“ Because I do not want to watch you die slowly in front of me.” He explained, speaking slowly and patiently, keeping the concern out of his voice. 

“ No. Why-- you can survive, like this. You could leave me here, and walk away. Why don’t you?” He sounded utterly plaintive, like he was afraid Loki hadn’t already realized this, like he was worried that he would leave, now he’d said something. 

“ Because you trusted me, and you asked me not to. And I will not leave you to die. You could have done the same the morning you found me in the park, while you were out for your run. You didn’t. You could have left my mouth stitched, abandoned me to your doctors, to NEST, to Death. I owe you at least this much.” And there were other things, there, more tender thoughts that did not bear scrutiny. Not now. Perhaps not ever, now that Rogers had seen him for what he was. But Rogers would have to live, in order to hate him, so Loki had to focus on that, first.

The Captain nodded and clenched his jaw, pushing his shivering away long enough for him to strike the match. 

Loki watched it flare, unprepared for the panic that it sent through him. His body reacted to it, though his mind knew better, but fortunately Rogers seemed singularly fixed on his goal. He didn’t notice the way Loki jerked, the way his current form urged him backward and he fought against it. Or perhaps that lack of acknowledgment was because of the blood loss. 

Loki frowned, not sure which thought he ought to give precedence to-- his body’s mutiny against his mind, or Rogers’ body’s potential issues. 

The latter, he decided, as the paper began to burn, and, thankfully, the small pieces of wood began to follow suit. 

“ Can you build the fire up on your own?” He asked him, his eye falling on the sceptre. “I want to check in with Barnes again, but if you need help--” 

“See what Bucky’s got for us. I’ll be careful. And… if nothing else he was always better than me at doing this. Maybe he’ll have some tips.” 

Rogers’ smile was strained, and Loki found himself wanting to pummel it off of him. He did not need any such pretenses of good humor. Not from the man who may very well be dead before the night had even reached its peak. 

Loki just nodded and hovered his hand over the sceptre, before closing his fist around it and pressing towards Barnes’ presence. 

Surprise and panic blossomed behind his eyes, and he felt his mouth open. 

“ I’m  _ driving _ , goddamnit!” He blurted, and then the sceptre was dropped and the connection severed.

Loki took back his own body, reeling from the speed of the exchange, and Rogers stared at him for a moment before he burst out laughing. He reached up to grasp his head, as if it was hurting him, but did not stop, perhaps an edge of hysteria creeping into his mirth.

Loki folded his arms over his chest, embarrassed by this, discomforted by the loudness and the expression of joy on Rogers’ face; embarrassed that he didn't know. That even with the sceptre, he wasn't powerful enough to be able to see what was in Barnes' head. 

“ Well, I guess we know he’s going to tell someone now.” Rogers said, though his grin faded when his shivers increased, and then he frowned. “I hope he didn’t steal that car.” 

Loki rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He could not tell if it was an attempt at humor, or if the Captain’s thoughts were slowing from the cold. 

He just moved as close as he could to the opening of the lean-to, close to the fire and hoped that he could block off some of the wind. 

The sun was only beginning to lower over the horizon, and even Loki in his monstrous form shuddered a bit as the shadows fell over them. Silence fell, too, and Loki didn’t know what he was more uncomfortable with. He stared into the fire, wishing it could burn away the misery of this situation. He had always done poorly by those who tried to help him. Thor and Frigga, Laufey and Thanos, Barnes, Sin… the Captain. Finally, Rogers spoke. 

“ So this is... what you look like? For real, I mean, without magic?” His voice sounded thin, and his words shook, with cold, Loki thought. Not with fear. At least that was his hope. Though he realized it was a selfish one. 

“ This is what I am, yes. Beneath the face I know as mine, this is the skin I am meant to be in.” He could not keep the disgust out of his voice. 

“ Seems pretty handy right now.” Rogers told him. “At least you aren’t fr-re-eezing.” His teeth had begun to chatter again, and Loki swallowed. 

“ No, I’m already frozen through.” He noted the way Rogers’ eyes had grown wider, and he was crowding in closer to the fire. Loki wondered if he knew how unlikely his survival was. 

“ Any word from Bucky?” Rogers asked, instead of acknowledging Loki’s loathing for this form. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Either way it sounded as if his tongue had thickened in his mouth. He would sound like a drunk if he didn’t also sound so close to both sleep and terror.

Loki listened, but there was nothing, not even the impression of him vying for attention. 

“ Nothing. I imagine he is speaking to someone who can help even now.” He meant to sound reassuring, but with a voice like glaciers crashing against one another, he supposed he just sounded threatening. They fell silent again, with only the sounds of Rogers’ frozen misery and the sharp crackling of the fire to puncture the emptiness.

“They won’t get here in time.” Rogers said quietly, some time later. “I can already feel-- I’m... stiff and my heart’s... tryin' to slow, I’m tired… head hurts so bad.” 

Loki snarled at that and sprung into action, hauling a larger piece of wood onto the fire, despite his body’s aversion to it. 

“ Once they have contacted Thor, it should be a matter of moments. I have no magic to cloak us from Heimdall’s gaze with, and even if I did, I would not. It is the work of a heartbeat to open the bifrost and pull you through it.” 

“ What d'you think will happen t'you, if they do?” 

“ You asked that before.” Loki reminded him. 

“ You never answered.” He came back, though it took him a few moments, and Loki pursed his lips. 

“ I will probably be left here-- or taken with you, likely to Asgard for you to be doctored and healed and returned, as you are one of Odin’s worthy… and while there, I will be punished for violating my banishment. I will be executed. But you will be alive, and if they are wise, the sceptre will be taken with us, and placed in the vaults, where it will be safe.” He shrugged, the effect more impressive for all of the lines across his skin that moved with the motion. He hated them, the skin thick where they ran like a layer of dried wax. 

“ I won’t abandon you here, either. Not if I can help it. I-- while you were out before… if I… if the cold does get me.” He thrust his jaw out at that, clearly bolstering his own courage. “There’s a... letter in my pouch...you did everything you could. This isn’t your fault.” It was the most coherent thing he had said in at least an hour.

He sounded scared, though, and Loki thought he might cry if these beasts were capable of so real an emotion.

“ I appreciate that you thought to do as much.” He did not say how little he doubted it would matter. “I am clinging to the hope, though, that help is on its way.” 

“ I’m tired, Loki. I don’t know... how much longer I’m gonna... be able t'stay awake... and I think we both know, if I sleep…” His words trailed off. Loki peered closer, wondering if the Captain was looking paler, or if it was just the night, the light of the fire orange against his skin and making it difficult to tell.

But it was true, if he slept, he would not wake, and Loki suddenly could picture all too well, his kind face still and tinged gray, frost in his hair and lashes, chest still and all of his warmth fled. 

“ Then we will have to keep talking, keep you awake.” 

“ It’s so hard… t’think.” Rogers’ speech was slowing even as Loki listened, and his eyelids drooped. 

“ Tell me about Bucky.” Loki blurted. “You told me a story about him before, do you remember? About he and the piano. Tell me how you met, where you played. Tell me how he saved you from your fights. Tell me anything.” 

“ I w’s too small.” Rogers began. “Always too small…” He seemed to drift off, and just as Loki opened his mouth to say something, Rogers pushed on. “Always picked big fights, though. Couldn’t… fight on my own. Always needed you to help me out.” Loki shifted at that, uncomfortable, and he saw that Rogers’ eyes had slid shut. 

Loki felt even his Jotun eyes prickling as Rogers went on, and he realized that he didn’t realize Loki was there any more. 

“ After you died… nothin’ was right ‘nymore. There w’s n’ n’ _ laughing _ .” 

“It's alright, Steve. I'm here now.” If he thought he was Bucky... maybe it would be comforting. But not as comforting as actually having Bucky here. But loki could give him the next best thing.

He swallowed and reached for the sceptre, well aware that he didn’t deserve this moment with Steve. Not when the man who it was meant for was within reach. 

But before he could close his hand over it, Steve opened his eyes. 

“ Loki?” He asked, and Loki nodded. 

“ I’m here.” His voice was a croak. 

“ I’m… not cold, ‘nymore.” He was so distant, sort of wondering, and Loki knew it was getting closer to the end. 

“ Do you want me to bring Bucky for you?” He knew he should. He was gentle. Understanding. But Steve shook his head.

“ _ No. _ No, I…. m’de Peg-- she lis’n’d to-- don’t make Buck watch me like I-- like I watched him.” The words were emphatic, if disjointed. 

Loki nodded, aware that he would have to be here, then, that he was being asked to stay, to protect Barnes. Because it didn’t matter-- no one tried to protect Loki. 

But  _ this _ he did deserve. He deserved to spend the rest of his life remembering, reliving, these few last hours. Watching the most potently good creature he’d ever know die, and being unable to stop it, unable to help. 

“ Loki?” Steve said again. 

“ Yes Steve?” Loki asked, and was rewarded with a beaming smile from him. Loki watched as his lips, chapped by the cold, split, and a far too thin trickle of blood did not even roll as far as his chin. 

“ Y’said my name. Thought y’wouldn’t ...ever again.” His eyes were drooping shut. 

“ What can I do, Steve?” Loki asked, begging for some answer, some clue. He threw more logs on the fire, building it dangerously large and utterly uncaring. 

“ No, Loki-- ‘s so  _ hot. _ ”  He shrugged off Loki’s jacket and began tugging at his own. 

“ Steve, stop, you need those. I need you to leave those on.” 

“ No, it’s not fair! You’re-- I’m  _ dying, _ I can be naked with you if I want.” He said it with such vehemence that Loki was taken aback, and he would have laughed at how utterly ridiculous all of this was, if it weren’t so serious. 

“ No, you need to leave your clothing on. Look at your hands, do you see how they’re… they’re turning purple, Steve. It’s still cold. Your body is just confused.” He couldn’t even rub his hands between his own. He felt utterly useless. 

“ I’m dying.” He whispered. Then, again, “I’m dying.” He wheezed, and Loki’s heart clenched and stopped, until Steve drew in another breath. He was shaking violently now, and Loki couldn’t take much more of it. 

“Loki… will you…. hold me?” Steve’s eyes were clenched shut hard, and he sounded terrified he would be denied. Loki thought again of Grima in his bed, besieged by nightmares. 

This was like that, only much worse. Much more real.

“ I can’t.” He said softly. “I’m-- my touch will certainly kill you, now.” 

“ Do it.” Steve told him. “I just… once. Just once, I want…” He looked at Loki, and his eyes were wet. Loki stopped breathing himself, then before he’d actually made the decision-- the kind decision, the good one, to help his friend, despite knowing that no one would ever forgive him… including himself… 

He was moving, circling the fire. He crawled on his hands and knees and then pulled Steve into his arms, all at once, and held him tight to his chest. 

He heard the air get knocked out of him, but he couldn’t look. He shut his eyes and damned himself for a liar and a murderer and a coward. 

And then the cold hit him, at the same time as Steve hummed. 

“ You’re warm.” He muttered against the skin of Loki’s shoulder, and Loki shook and looked down at himself. He had gone back to his Aesir form, Steve’s touch knocking him back into the body that it was safe for him to touch. And yet, now Loki was dying too. 

But all he could think was  _ good _ . 

He had some body heat to give to Steve now, could hold him the way he wanted. 

He hauled the last of the logs onto the fire and pulled Steve into his lap, positioning him between Loki and the flame, surrounded by heat sources as long as they could last. 

He felt when Steve slumped over in his arms, felt when he lost consciousness. 

He saw when the trees above their heads burst into flames, and he only held Steve tighter. 

They would share a funeral pyre, he thought, as he slumped to the side, the smoke making him dizzy. They were both dead now. 

Barnes was battering at the back of his head again, but he couldn't get the sceptre. He'd have to let go of Steve to get to it. He didn't want to face Bucky. Didn't want to tell him he'd killed his friend.

He drifted out, eyes shutting and opening over and over, and only dimly did he register, the last time he managed, the dark figures leaning over them. 

Valkyries for Steve, Loki hoped. 

Asgardian Einherjar to take Steve’s body for proper burial, away from the monster.  He clung tighter still, and closed his eyes against the sensation of burning hands on his skin and being pulled out, away from the heat, into the snow.    
He didn’t know any more after that. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the story's not over; I won't leave you that way!  
> But hey, fun facts: In about a quarter of the cases of fatal hypothermia, the victims run away from their companions, leaving a trail of clothing until they are naked. Then they try to burrow or press themselves into small spaces. The literally run away to be alone and look for a place to die.  
> Another fun fact: I freak out when it hits 55 degrees and burrow into blankets and pillows. The cold in my biggest fear. And I chose to write the end of this chapter at 3 AM, and realized I had to research.  
> Final fun fact: No way in hell am I sleeping tonight. I regret everything and I make terrible decisions.
> 
> But hey!  
> If you've ever been curious what I do for a living, or maybe you remember the great hiatus of a while ago for filming... take a look, maybe help us finish it, if you can.  
> [ Slay belles ](https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/slay-belles-santa-vs-krampus/x/4771535#/story)


	19. Nineteen

When he woke, he cursed his own poor luck. He’d survived once again. 

His eyes swept over the oddly runny smoothness of the walls, the texture like nothing more than drops of wax in a slow progression down the side of a lit candle, before his glance landed on the sceptre. 

Wherever he was, he was not dead, not captured by anything particularly bright, apparently. Had he been the former, the sceptre, source of so many of his ills, would not be present. And if his captors had any sort of sense, they might have realized that it was not just a weapon, but also an object of power. 

Unless they felt that they were secure enough not to need fear it.

 

Loki scrambled upright, horrified that he may have found himself in the hands of something somehow worse than Thanos had been. 

He was blue again, disgusting and dark and foul.

 

“Calm yourself, little brother. You’ve slept for just over a day.” The voice behind him rumbled and he spun to face it, ignoring the words that were meant to soothe and instead staring with horror upon the face of one of the Jotnar.

 

“My companion?” He demanded, his voice rough and the words cracked with concern. The Frost Giant stood and approached, shaking its head, and Loki moved backwards, flinching away.

Noting his terror, the thing stopped. 

 

“ It was unwise of you to bring one of the warm bloods here, particularly a mortal one. Even less wise to seek to bunk with him through the night. A child might have made a better shelter than that, and you did not even seal it, or heat it for him. One might have thought… that you  _ wanted  _ him to die.” The Frost Giant stepped closer.

 

“Who are you, little brother? That you do not always wear our skin, that you seem not to know of Jotunheim… and yet that our touches do not burn you? That you do not reach for your magn to keep safe your Midgardian consort, but ask after him with such devotion?”

 

Loki’s tongue had frozen in his mouth, too many things running across his mind at once. He settled on the last, the most pressing. 

“Where is he?” He demanded, through the cold in his chest that had naught to do with the chilly reception nor his immediate surroundings. “What have you done with him?”

 

“Steven is in one of the hot pools beneath the castle. He is recovering, and spends much of his time there, speaking with the young ones. But you have not yet answered my question, Loki. Who are you?” The fear ebbed slightly, but Loki did not know how to answer this question.

 

“You have my name. No doubt Captain Rogers has told you where I come from and how we came here--” 

 

“Steven has told us of the injuries done you-- explained why the scars both mock your lines and keep us from reading your relations. That it was a punishment given you by the Asgardians. But for what crime, he would not say. And how you came here…” The great face was expressive, curiosity and wariness warring for control across it.

 

“I was attempting to flee from danger with the Captain, by the power of the sceptre there-- and Heimdall attempted to pull me back to Asgard at the same time. It is only accident which brought us here. I have-- Asgard has also locked away my seidhr. I have no access to magic, save the object you found me with.” He shrugged. “And I have not been here since my birth. I was taken. And now you know.” He paused, allowing it to sink in, giving the great lumbering idiot a chance to catch up to his words.

 

“Now, will you take me to my companion?”

“Taken?” It tilted its great head and Loki could not help but scowl.

 

“Raised to believe I was one of the Aesir. But my personal history matters not; I am no threat to you, if that is your fear. I only wish to see to my companion.”

 

“You are Loki-- son of Odin?” The thing had stilled and Loki realized the trouble he had blundered into.

 

“ I am  _ no son of Odin’s _ .” He spat, hoping that disavowing the relation would do some good. Would garner some favor. He could not imagine that the Jotnar were any more fond of his foster father than he was.

 

“And no son of Laufey, either, I suppose?” The beast asked, and its voice rang now with a brittle edge, like thin ice that waited to shatter and cut. Of course they knew who he was; he’d announced himself, hadn’t he? Led their greatest warriors and their king-- but if he could turn that around-- make it himself who was betrayed--

 

“ How should I know?” He demanded. “None claimed me but Odin, none would tell me of my past-- It was not until the Odinson’s attack on Laufey here that I even came to know I  _ was _ Jotun. I know now only that I was abandoned as a babe, taken to Asgard, raised as a courtling and now--” He looked down at his own hands. “I failed, on Asgard, to do what I intended. You have seen the scars I bear for it. I have been cast out. I do not mean to trouble you, do not intend to stay. I only need to find a way to return the Captain to his own lands. If you would see me punished for the role I had in the murder of your king by the Odinson--” that was dicey; he liked the honesty of it, though. He  _ had _ killed him while claiming that title. “I beg that you at least allow me to see my companion to safety first.” He looked up, meeting the thing’s eye. He hated begging them for anything, and yet…

 

“Without your Magn? Without your-- what did you call it? Seidhr? How do you intend to do that?” It was more distant now, not as dangerous sounding but nor was it as gentle as it had been when he’d first woken. Uncertain, perhaps, in how to treat with him.

 

“I have no idea.” He said honestly. He looked over his shoulder at the sceptre. Part of him wanted to grab it, to carry it with him for safety, (seeing as it was the only defense he had) but he also knew that the likelihood of his losing control of his body if he did so was-- unacceptable. 

“But before I can so much as begin to plan, I would see the Captain, see to his wellbeing.”

 

“You have not asked after your own.” The creature noted, and Loki was brought up short by that.

 

“I have no need to ask after myself-- I am quite capable--” The words sputtered forth, indignant.

 

“If you did not know of your species, what do you know of your body, as one of the Jotnar?” The thing asked. “Do you know what it craves, what your body asks in the way of sleep?” 

 

Loki scowled. 

“ You seem to have slipped into the assumption that I  _ care _ . The sooner I can be away from here, the sooner my skin can be reclaimed, and the sooner I can return to the form I am accustomed to. Unless you mean to detain me. If that is to be the case, please, say as much.” He glanced again to the sceptre, less subtly this time. He did not want to leave Steve defenseless among the monsters, but he would not allow them to have him without a fight.  

 

If Loki thought these monsters capable of being sad, he would have thought the expression on this one’s face was just that.

 

“So you deny not only your family, but your form...Yourself.”

 

“What use have I to that which has no use of me? I was raised separate. Different. I am nothing like you, nor any of those here. It was trained out of me intentionally. And then that which I was promised-- love, family, belonging-- it was all stripped from me. My magic, my skin… it was all stripped from me. I have no self. I have no loyalty. And at current I have no duty but seeing Rogers safely returned to his home, or at least to lands he would find habitable.”

 

“And after that? Where will you go, Loki of no father?”

 

Loki set his jaw, refusing to answer. 

“Take me to the Captain.” He said again, and the great beast sighed.

 

“When you reach the lower levels, you should reclaim your chosen skin as soon as possible. It would not do to have your Jotun form fall ill from the heat.” It spoke softly now, softer than Loki could remember hearing a frost giant speak, softer than he thought possible, and he felt a momentary twinge of-- something, some emotion-- maybe anger at its pity, maybe guilt at causing it such distress.

 

Loki did not speak of his fevers, of the way he’d always been more susceptible to the heat, and instead gave the creature a curt nod. He knew that politeness dictated he should ask its name, but he saw little point; he did not care.

 

The thing led him through winding tunnels and Loki felt his nakedness keenly, but it seemed none that they passed saw it as at all out of place. Those around him were in similar states of undress, the majority of them wearing a loincloth, if that. He would have sneered, save that he was so uncomfortable, and so busy trying not to seem so. 

He was also busy ignoring their curiosity, and the way that a few of them had begun following them, smaller ones, closer in size to himself. They whispered amongst themselves about his back, and he forced it to remain straight and proud, despite the fact that Frost Giant whispers were about as subtle as ice breaking underfoot.

 

They were several floors up, and the Frost Giants seemed to disdain the use of stairs and ladders-- the corridors sloped instead, switching back and forth as they moved silently down into the darkness that was below.

 

And then it was not dark at all.

 

Lights flared to either side of them, red like the eyes of the beasts, and Loki raised his hands and stumbled backwards, into the bulk of one of the creatures behind him.

 

“Be still, brother.” One of the younger Jotuns said, reaching out to help steady him. He flinched at the touch and pulled away, and the smaller giant frowned at that. “The magn lights-- they mean you no harm. It would be too dark here to see without them.”

 

Loki’s lips twisted.

 

“I am no brother to you, nor to any.” He spoke milder than he might otherwise, for the Jotun was clearly a child, but just the same it brought the larger one, the one leading him down, the one he’d woken to meet, back to attend him.

 

“Come, Loki.” it instructed. “Let the smalls run ahead-- they mean no disrespect. It is how each of the Jotnar greets the rest, for we are all brothers.”

 

The children nodded their thanks, or reverence, or obedience-- whatever the case may be-- to the larger giant, and skittered around to go first down the hall.

  
  


“And what of your sisters, your women?” Loki asked, before he could think better of it.

 

“Hrymthurs are a different thing entirely. But you did not wish to know of your kind, nor your body. As such…” The beast shrugged its hulking shoulders. “I will not pass our secrets on to one who so disdains us. Come, you are not far now from your companion.”

 

Loki closed his mouth with a near-audible snap, and simply allowed himself to be pushed forward. The larger Jotun did not murmur about his scars, but the utter silence was almost more unnerving.

 

“I suppose then you also will not tell me what it is that Odin so lovingly carved into my back, then?” he asked, without facing the thing.

 

“Relation lines, child. Your family would bear similar… each line goes in certain directions for the presence of the differing bloodlines. By your back, we can read to whom you belong. Or we might have, once.”

 

Loki closed his eyes and inhaled deeply and slowly.

 

How like Odin, to not only disown him, but to make it impossible for him to be claimed by any other family he might once have had. He’d certainly done a fine job of that, if even one who knew how to read such things could not. 

 

But Loki bit the inside of his cheek and did not say anything about it.

 

He knew to whom he’d belonged. They all did. He was Laufey’s son. But they never spoke of his mother, he realized. Never spoke of who had actually birthed him. Not that he cared. And not, he supposed, that they would know. No doubt the Jotun King had his choice of wives or women, no doubt the records of who Loki’s had been were destroyed, as they had tried to destroy him.

 

And he would never know now, thanks to Odin. 

 

These thoughts carried him deeper and deeper into the mine-like keep, until suddenly the beast behind him stopped. 

 

“This is the way to the pools. I will leave you here; it is too warm for my liking there. You will find the younglings have a higher tolerance for the warmth though. If you need anything, send one of them for Olvaldi.”

 

“I will, thank you.” Loki was distracted by the smell and the warmth, so that he didn’t realize until too late that he’d thanked the creature. He turned his eyes to it, expecting to find it looking smugly back at him.  

Instead, it just watched him for a moment.

“Whatever reasons you have been given to hate your kind, do not be cruel to our children. They have had enough cruelty from Asgard without your help.” It warned. But it did not wait for a response from Loki before turning and walking back they way they had come. Its steps were purposeful and its strides much longer than those it had taken for Loki’s sake.

Loki shifted his attention back to the doorway, and jumped when the lights behind him went out.

He was quite alone now, and did not have whatever power the monsters that lived here did.

 

He made his way forward, only hoping that he would find light again before he found the pools.

 

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried.

 

There was a gathering of some twenty small Jotnar, each longing near the edge of the water, though none were within it. One dipped its toes in, and Loki watched as ice fought valiantly to form, but failed against the water’s temperature, resulting in steam wafting over the surface.

 

But of much more interest to him was the lone figure in the pool, coming ever closer.

 

Rogers was a rich pink color from the heat, and Loki was concerned for a moment that it was  _ too _ hot, that it was scalding him. But as his powerful arms brought him to the edge where the children gathered, he stood, and Loki saw that there was no damage, save that which had been done by his own body.

 

“Well hey there, you’re a new face around here. What’s your name?” The Captain said, words warm with greeting. He hauled himself out of the pool and took a step forward, naked and gloriously built enough that Loki would mistake him for one of the Aesir, if he did not know better. Rogers slicked his hair back and put out his hands to receive Loki’s. “C’mere, let me get a look at-- Loki?”

 

He’d forgotten that he looked like one of them now, and sized as he was, somewhere between the statures of the children here and the adult he’d seen, he could hardly blame Steve for not recognizing him at first. But it did hurt.

 

Loki pulled his hands up and together, flinching away from the touch.

 

“Has your time with these beasts taught you nothing? Does the scar I burned into your skin not serve as enough reminder?” He hissed, upset and unsure why, other than that the Captain had apparently taken leave of what little sense he possessed, in this environment. Loki thought he might understand, to an extent-- the heat made him feel ill and irrational.

 

“ Woah, hey, good to see you too.” Rogers said, his brows drawing together. He stopped where he was though, suddenly looking wary, and it felt like a slap as Loki realized that he was the cause-- Rogers was comfortable among the monsters, but it was  _ him _ \--

 

More monstrous than even they were.

 

He meant to look down but caught himself just in time to turn his eyes away from filling his mind with images of his companion without any clothes-- and he was reminded of his own nakedness and the way he was scarred and deformed. Even, or perhaps  _ especially _ , for a Frost Giant-- only, then his eyes settled on the child beasts behind the Captain, watching them avidly.

 

“How are you feeling?” Rogers asked, and Loki looked back up, his face going tight again.

 

“ Over warm.” He admitted. “I do not know how long I can stay here-- but I came to check on you. How are  _ you  _ feeling? When last I saw you, I thought-- I was certain we would both die.”

He remembered holding him, remembered the way his skin on Loki’s had turned him back to his Aesir form, how the cold had come back much stronger, and how Steve had gone limp in his arms.

 

“I wasn’t sure how much of that I actually remembered and how much was just…” Rogers shook his head. “I was all mixed up, and I wanted to apologize--”

 

Loki looked at him, swallowing. He did not know why, but he felt as though he was losing something in this apology. He felt almost panicked. Perhaps it was just Barnes. That seemed likely.

 

“I didn’t mean-- I know it’s probably uncomfortable, now, uh, especially right now.” Rogers adjusted how he was standing, hands crossing in front of himself.

 

“I understand.” Loki said quietly.

 

“You do?” The Captain seemed surprised, and Loki shook his head, smiling sadly.

 

“The first time you died, you were speaking to someone you loved, and it is no surprise your mind was there. You were dying, and I know you didn’t-- ” He paused delicately, gathering his words.  “I don’t know if you remember, but I asked if you wanted me to get Barnes for you, grasp the sceptre so that he could-- but you told me no. You wanted to protect him. It was-- it was brave of you, trying to spare him that.” 

He did not say how he’d felt, realizing that he wasn’t worth sparing. 

“ I understand you were not in your right state of mind, because you  _ were _ dying. And it was my fault. So it is I who owes you an apology.”

 

Rogers’ face did a strange little dance as it shuffled through a range of emotions.

 

“What if we just call it even?” He asked, and his face seemed far too intentionally neutral, but Loki was feeling almost faint from the warmth. He didn’t realize there was a child approaching until it was standing right beside the Captain. The others were watching him, obviously having selected their leader.

 

“Is it true that you can turn into one of them without Magn?” The child asked, and Loki blinked.

 

“I have shifted between forms with my powers bound, yes.” He spoke carefully, turning to look at Rogers for help.

 

“Loki is not used to being a Jotun, Alsvart.” The Captain added kindly. “I doubt he can answer your questions very well.” The thing managed to look disappointed, and Loki all but glared as it shrugged. 

  
  


“Will you show us, though, brother? You are beginning to look fever sick, and that would surely fix it, no?” The little creature pressed on. 

  
  


“I do not know how.” Loki managed to grit out, between teeth locked together and a firmed jaw. 

  
  


“Before, when I was-- I asked you to hold me, and your skin turned warm. Was it maybe through touch?” Rogers suggested, and Loki turned to glare at him again. 

  
  


“I would not have touched you if you hadn’t been dying.” He spat. “I thought to help it along, to be merciful. I do not know why my touch did not burn you, and why I became an Aesir instead, but it should have. When they retrieved us, their touch burned me.”

 

Rogers’ eyes went wide and round and he looked stricken.

Loki could sense that he had somehow ruined things, but his vision was beginning to swim. 

  
  


“I have to leave. It is too hot here. Child--”

  
  


“Alsvart.” The thing supplied. 

  
  


“The elder who led me here-- how would I find my way back to the room I woke in?” His words came quickly, and Loki could feel the tightness in his chest building, though whether that was from the way Rogers had turned and walked away from him, or just the heat, he couldn’t say.

The child turned to its fellows, who were watching with interest. 

“Gardr, you and Beli came not long before Loki. Did you see from whence he came, or who brought him?”

 

“It was Olvaldi.” One of them said, and the other nodded, though Loki could neither tell, nor did he care, who was which. 

“They came from the second floor to the top. The Blarrum was where they were keeping the stranger and his weapon, I think.” The other added, and Alsvart nodded.

 

He turned back to Loki and lifted his hand.

“I will take you so that you do not become lost, brother.” He said politely, and Loki scowled. He did not refute the relation again, though. For all he knew, he may well be speaking to one of his siblings. Who knew how many children Frost Giants whelped in a lifetime-- more than the Aesir, it seemed.

 

“I need to go back there, yes. I need to… the sceptre.” Words were coming slower now. Alsvart simply took Loki’s hand in his and pulled him back towards the door he’d come in through.

 

“I’ll be back soon.” The small beast promised his companions, and led Loki back out, away from the lights and the hot water, and into the blissful cool of the corridor.

 

Around them, the red lights winked back into existence, dimmer perhaps than they had been before, but Loki was grateful for them just the same. The light by the pools had been yellow, and it wasn’t until he got away that he realized how horribly bright it had been, how sore his eyes were from standing under it for so long.

 

“Where do you come from, that you do not know how to be one of the Jotnar any longer?” The child asked, and Loki realized he was still holding the thing’s hand.

 

But it was cool and comforting, and it could not burn him with his skin already turned to match it. He frowned. Besides, the thing was a child-- it had no control of what it was.

 

“I grew up on Asgard, child. I was raised thinking myself Aesir.”

 

Beside him, Alsvart snorted. 

“That’s silly. How could you ever have believed that?” 

Yes, how could he have? He’d always been different, always looked down upon. In retrospect it was little wonder as to why.

 

Loki’s mouth twisted and he gently pulled his hand away. 

 

“I was a fool.” Was all he said in response, and the child ducked his head, obviously able to tell that he’d offended.

 

“What was it like? Asgard.” The boy tried, changing tacks, and Loki fought the urge to sneer and tell him that he should not ask; it wasn’t as though he would ever see it.

 

But he was a  _ child _ , even if the child of monsters. 

  
  


And Loki knew if he had been likewise restricted to the one realm while he was a child, he would have asked the same sort of question.

 

“Asgard as a realm is beautiful. It is warm and green, the climate far more forgiving than yours. Travelers may sleep outside without shelter in the summer months, and in the winters there is a fire in every hearth and stories are told by the elders.” He shrugged, unsure what, exactly, the child wanted to know.

 

“And the people?” He prompted, and Loki sighed.

 

“I do not wish to dwell on the people of Asgard.” He spoke gently, keeping his emotions out of his voice. “They are no longer my people, and they all, to a one, hate me. If I returned to Asgard, I would be killed. When I discovered the truth of what I am, I could not tell any, for fear of being killed. That is what Asgard is like.”

 

Alsvart’s brow crumpled inwards and he mumbled an apology, his mind obviously churning while they walked the rest of the way back to Loki’s sickroom. The sceptre was still there, which he counted as fortunate. If one of the creatures had stolen it, he would have had to fight them, and being smaller, powerless, unarmed and naked… 

 

Which reminded him.

 

“Alsvart, is there a way I might gain some clothing? Some form of coverage? Were any of my things preserved, when I was brought here?”

 

Alsvart shrugged. 

“I can go ask one of the elders, but you might check the storage beneath your bed first. That is where they would have been placed.”

 

Loki looked at the side of the bed, which to him looked like a sheet of ice, until he saw the ridge that the ice draped from started a finger’s width or so below the flat of the top of the thing. 

He put his fingers on it, expecting to pull outwards like a drawer, but instead it slid downwards, into the floor.

 

Behind it, there were shelves, and they included the pants he’d worn before-- the ones he’d removed to place under Steve in the lean-to shelter he’d fashioned.

 

Loki pulled them on while Alsvart stared. Loki supposed he'd not seen properly tailored clothing before. He wondered if they were capable-- if Frost Giants had the supplies necessary to make their own, or if they were too simple, too untamed. Too lazy to develop into a proper society.

 

“I have to contact one of the mortals of Midgard now, have to see if he has been able to speak with rescuers. Captain Rogers cannot stay here.”

 

Alsvart’s jaw jutted forward unexpectedly. 

“Why not? We can care for him. He is warm enough in the pool chambers. He can exercise in the pool, and we feed him on spayard hart. Steve likes it here!”

 

Loki’s rage blinded him for a moment, and his tongue let slip the unkindnesses he'd been harboring. 

“ The Captain is not a pet! You cannot keep him. He needs sunlight, he needs vegetation, he needs warmth and others like him. You cannot ask him to remain here for the rest of his short life, catering to your wants!” And perhaps he was only angry because he knew he would think much the same, is Alsvart’s place. The Captain was so good, how could anything so terrible as they were  _ not  _ want to possess him?

Alsvart backed up, eyes growing large with surprise and fear at the venom in Loki’s words. He turned to flee and almost ran into one of the bigger monsters.

 

“I half thought that it was Bergelmir on the sickbed, from the noise in here.” The creature said, his voice low and mild, though with the same mocking drawl that Laufey had spoken with, when Loki had known him. “Alsvart, are you harmed?”

“No-- I was rude. Apologies, brother.” He made a little bow to Loki, and that surprised him; he’d not realized they had that sort of manners.

 

“No apology necessary. I lost my temper. I am sorry.” Loki nodded back, unable to quite bring himself to bow to anything that looked like him. 

“Loki is about to speak with a Midgardian, Ganglati. May we watch?”

 

The names were strange to his ears, and he realized he did not know if it was a name or a title-- he could not guess at the grown monster’s age, and other than its height, there was nothing he could see to say who was considered important. It was also the first adult Jotun that he had seen the child interact with, and so he did not know if this reverence was bestowed upon every elder, or if it was something special only to this one. But it seemed the child was asking permission from it, rather than Loki, so he waited to hear its answer.

 

“You must ask Loki, little brother. After all, it is up to him if he wishes to explain to you his Magn.”

 

Alsvart shook his head eagerly.

 

“But it is not Magn! You cannot even light the shadows, can you?”

 

Loki would have flushed if this body allowed it, embarrassed by his ignorance of something so simple that even the children of this world were capable of it. 

“It is true, I was not raised with Magn. I was taught the manipulation of seidhr, but that has been stolen from me. Instead, I will be using the sceptre of Thanos… but I am afraid that I cannot explain its workings. I do not know them.”

 

The adult seemed taken aback by this, or at least hesitant to allow him to proceed.

 

Loki frowned and tried to explain.

“When I touch the sceptre, my mind will be linked with that of the human I must speak to. He may come into my form. If you hear me speak aloud, it may very well not be me. But the connection will be… not severed, but severely lessened when I cease to touch the sceptre.”

 

“ You mean to say you will be bringing  _ another  _ outsider into our home?” The thing demanded.

 

“Not as it were; only his mind, and only into my body and only so long as the touch lasts. I must contact him to arrange a way to see the other Midgardian safely removed from your world.”

 

Ganglati’s eyes narrowed.

 

“Yes, Alsvart. I think we shall watch this working.” His voice was low and threatening, and Loki did not much like it.

 

But he knew he had little enough choice.

He cleared his throat and crossed to the sceptre, but hesitated before reaching for it. 

 

“Please try not to scare him, if he does come. His name is Barnes, and he has never seen creatures such as we, before.”

 

Ganglati made a ‘get on with it’ gesture, rolling his hand on his wrist almost impatiently, and Loki nodded again at Alsvart and exhaled loudly, eyes closing as he took up the weapon.

The vague presence that he could barely feel before suddenly sharpened, and he was almost overwhelmed with worry.

 

“ What the  _** HELL  ** _ Loki? Where is-- Is Steve--?”

  
  


_ Well. He is fine. Steve is-- Rogers is in a cavern with a hotsprings, staying warm. Eating deer and befriending monsters, from what I understand. _

Loki’s retort was sharp, perhaps too much so, given that he knew Barnes had been cut off, and it was only natural for him to worry for his friend. Especially since last he heard, Steve would not last the night.

But Loki felt, keenly, the lack of care for himself, and it still stung. Especially given the way he had legitimately come to care for The Soldier, for Grima… and then lost all of that when he gave Barnes back his life, his memories, himself…

 

“ What do you mean  _ monsters _ ?” Barnes demanded, and Loki would have winced had he control of his own face. As it was, he saw himself turn suddenly in response to the low rumble from the doorway, and he felt his hands tighten on the sceptre.

 

_ Barnes, no-- the situation is delicate, but it is by the grace of the Jotnar that Steve is alive and remains so. You cannot endanger him by allowing yourself to react in fear or hatred. _

 

But it seemed that Barnes had no intention to immediately fight them, much to Loki’s surprise. 

“Is this what you are? What you really look like?” He sounded full of awe, and Loki could sense no animosity, only curiosity.

 

_ Can you not see, Barnes? You are in my body, in my mind-- I can keep no secrets from you. Can you not see my shame? Yes, this is what I am. One of the Jotnar. A disfigured one at that. But instead of focusing on my humiliation, perhaps speak to me of Rogers-- have you contacted Thor? Is Heimdall able to fetch Rogers, if I return him to the surface? _

 

“Asgard can’t get to Jotunheim with the bifrost anymore.” Barnes said, and Loki saw through his eyes, though distantly, the look of relief and excitement that the two giants shared.

 

“It worked!” Alsvart all but crowed, and Barnes tilted Loki’s head.

 

“He speaks English?” He sounded confused. 

_ They use Alspeak. You understand them because they speak to every language. But explain-- Heimdall cannot access us here? _

 

“Yeah, sounds like you fucked it up for everyone when you--”

 

Loki hissed and shoved hard at Barnes’ consciousness, gratified when he managed to reclaim his body. He did not put down the sceptre yet, but held Barnes at bay, aware he had to fix things.

 

“You let them through before.” He spoke impatiently as though he had been interrupted. It was odd, this way, hearing Barnes' voice within his head, instead of his words coming from Loki's throat.

 

_ They don’t want to scare them any more than they have been-- you used it as a weapon, and then when the bridge was destroyed, I guess it damaged this direction. They can’t face it this way. _

 

“Will they send someone, then?”

 

_ It’s a big place. They don’t know where you are, and besides, they can’t break any more treaties. They don’t even know who the ruler is there, any more. You have to negotiate with whoever’s in charge. And there’s something else... Sin’s in Asgard, Loki.  Thor is with her now. But Odin’s not pleased. _

 

Loki stiffened. That would require throught, and he would need to make plans. It would be difficult, though, with an audience such as this.

 

“I have to go.” He said, in the way that he imagined Barnes might. 

 

_ Check back in with me? Please don’t leave me hanging like that again. _

 

“Yes next time I plan to be unconscious for a day or more, I will attempt to remember to tell you ahead of time.” He replied sardonically, but before Barnes could form a retort, Loki sat the sceptre down.

 

“I need to rest.” He said to his observers. “But later… if I may, I would like to speak to whomever is in charge. Your new King. I would request an audience with him.”

 

The two exchanged a look, and it was Alsvart who shrugged. 

 

“We will make an inquiry. I do not know how responsive they will be, though.” Ganglati said.

 

Loki nodded. 

“I can but ask.”

 

And that was true, he knew. Unfortunately. For now.

 

"Do all other realms think so little of us?" Alsvart asked, and Loki shrugged, no glib answer ready to explain to the child that he'd had the misfortune of being born into a realm of beasts. Ganglati lay a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder, and gave it a soft squeeze while Loki watched, oddly jealous of the care shown between the two of them.

 

They left him and he lay himself out on the bed, nudging the sceptre to within easy reach with his toe.

As he began to let the toll of his activity overtake him, he registered a dim thought, and he wasn’t sure whether it was his or Barnes’:

 

_ If Steve asked, I bet they would be more receptive. _

 

Because even among monsters like him, he was ugly, unliked, uncommon and unwanted. Grimly, he supposed he should be used to it by now.

He didn’t know why the thought made him ache so, though. It wasn’t as though he  _ wanted  _ to belong here. 

That did not stop the yawning chasm in his chest, though.

Barnes did not care. Rogers was more at peace with the children of the creatures than he was with Loki,  _ because  _ he was Loki. And the creatures themselves… 

Well. 

Perhaps he could strike a bargain: the killer of Laufey, in exchange for Rogers’ safe return to the Summerlands. 

Surely that would solve it all. And none of them would need to worry any longer about the problem of what to do with Loki of no people. He hadn't long to live at any rate; at least this would see his life was of  _ some  _ use, even if only at last.

 


	20. Twenty

Loki’s rest was short and broken by his concerns, but claiming sleep at least gave him the freedom to be alone with his thoughts, for a time. 

And he desperately needed the opportunity. 

  
  


Sin was on Asgard-- That in itself was worrisome, because she was a mortal, and as such no doubt being treated considerably more poorly than she deserved. Most likely she was in a cell, and if any had breathed a word of her recent possession of the sceptre, he was certain she would be treated as dangerous because of it. 

  
Worse, if they knew of his hand in returning her memories to her, there would only be additional suspicion cast upon her. She did not need that sort of treatment now; they should be reinforcing her humanity, her empathy. Not cutting her off from it. 

  
  


And odd that he could not hear her thoughts, could not feel her presence, when Barnes’ was a constant companion to him. He was like another person in the room, hovering just outside the line of Loki’s peripheral vision. It was a sense like being watched, and with faint traces of his worry and confusion and disapproval hovering at the back of his mind, Loki did not know how long it would be before it began driving him mad. 

  
  


And Barnes seemed to think himself unable to help them, insisting instead that their rescue was in Loki’s hands. 

Did he think Loki more capable than he was? Or did he underestimate the danger of allowing Loki to lead, here? Honestly, if Rogers was in charge, there would be much less concern on Loki’s part about whether or not they would get out of this. 

  
  


But he did not know these creatures’ culture, he did not know their rituals or their customs, did not know how to approach royalty, as one now lesser than them, let alone what might be best to use in bargaining with them. None of that had been important, none of it had been covered in his lessons. His tutors had told histories of the war with the Jotnar, of the horrors they had done and the pains inflicted by them upon Asgard, but never how one was to treat with them. 

  
  


Because, as well he knew, you had to be a fool to do so. He was that and much worse, though, so it was hardly any surprise that he was going to do it again. He just would have to remember not to repeat his past mistakes. Not that he could. He was less, even, than an Asgardian smith, now. He was nothing.

  
  


He knew that they had loathed him even when he promised them what they wanted most. But then his use had outweighed their hatred. Now he was no one, he had nothing… and it seemed they coddled their young. If that was the case, he was also the person who threatened to deprive the children of their new favorite toy-- and he would have to ask for their help to do so.

  
  


They seemed protective of their home, though, if the adult’s concern when he’d proposed to contact Barnes was anything to judge by. Getting them to tell him a location for this keep would no doubt be difficult-- getting permission from them to allow others to come for them seemed as though it would be harder still. 

And he could not take Rogers back out into that cold, could not drag him back to potential death, and simply hope that Heimdall judged it safe enough to send the ships. Hope that they reached them in time. 

  
  


Perhaps there were other springs, like the ones keeping Rogers alive now. If he could arrange to wait there with him, without any others, surely that would be… less appalling, for all sides. The Captain would live, Heimdall could come retrieve him… and whatever came of Loki would be… would be fair, he was certain. Deserved. 

  
  


Loki stood, restless now, and had no sooner begun to pace in the room that he had been given than a grown Jotun appeared, a hand on the door causing the ice to recede enough to allow them in, or Loki out. 

  
  


He’d not realized how thoroughly he’d been locked in until just that moment. This was a sick room, the one had said-- he’d failed to mention it was also a cell. 

  
  


“If you are prepared, I am to take you to the throne.” 

  
  


Odd wording, Loki reflected. Not ‘his majesty will see you’, not, ‘I am to take you before their majesties’... no sign of who would be in attendance, whether he ought to expect a king, or a queen, or someone of some other title altogether.

  
  


“I am ready.” He responded, feeling anything but. He felt vulnerable, unarmed and dwarfed by those around him. 

  
  


But still, he followed after the beast as it led him through the halls, up the stairs this time, and outside-- Loki struggled to try and memorize the way, in the event he had to attempt to escape with Rogers. He hoped it would not come to that, though. 

  
  


They led him into a mostly open courtyard, one he recognized.

  
  


Seated on the same throne he’d first met Laufey on-- the same one, or one similar enough that he could tell no difference-- was a single giant. Odd, again, for Loki had been certain the other giant-- Ganglati-- had said ‘they’. ‘They’ may not be receptive. 

But there was only the one-- and it was female. The first of her kind that Loki had seen. She was large, taller than he, certainly, though smaller than the men of her kind, and her skin was not the same dark, almost ruddy blue of her courtiers, but rather something altogether purer looking, lighter around the edges in a way that gave her the semblance of transparency-- or a thin coat of frost. Even one such as he, with all of the hatred for these beasts that he had grown to have, had to admit that she was beautiful, in a way. Breathtaking, albeit horrible. But mildly so. It was almost perverse, her sort of beauty.

  
  


Little wonder, then, that there were an army of frost giant males surrounding her. More even than he had seen on his first visit with Thor, and he was silently grateful that the oaf wasn’t with him this time. 

  
  


He took one knee, well aware that he was being watched, and that, as he was no longer of the Asgardian royal family, he had no right here to keep his feet. 

He was not their Queen’s equal. Not any longer. 

  
  


“Loki of Asgard. The last time you were here, you took our King and several of his men with you, promising great treasures. And of that came only death. Theirs, and a goodly amount of our world.” She spoke calmly, voice high and loud and clear, echoing off of the tall silvery white walls of ice around them. 

  
  


Loki swallowed and lowered his head. 

  
  


“You are here, I am told, because of a mistake. You bring with you a warm blooded consort, and you possess neither the Magn of our people nor the Seidhr of yours to preserve him. And…” She paused delicately, and Loki flinched, certain worse was to come. “It seems you were not completely honest with us about who you are. And now you come before me, no doubt to ask some boon. Tell me, Loki of Asgard-- why should Jotunheim help you?” 

  
  


Loki lifted his head that he might look her in the eyes-- eyes that all but burned in her face, harsh and fierce and cold. 

  
  


“I am no longer of Asgard.” He began. “My attempts to aid your King, to return to him the casket of Ancient Winters as a means of reparation for the damages done upon our previous visit--”

  
  


He was interrupted as the Jotun Queen snorted inelegantly.

  
  


“You were slippery then, and you have not changed that, whatever else may have been done to you. You did not offer the casket up. You offered it in repayment for a service. Do not seek to lie to me; I was there. I stood beside Laufey as you bargained our world’s future for the death of your father. What have you to say for that?”

  
  


Loki exhaled harshly through his nose. 

  
  


“ You call me a liar, and yet you say you were there-- impossible. There were no women in attendance, during any of my audiences with Laufey. In fact, you are the first of your kind that I have seen. If I am a liar, your majesty,  _ so are you _ .” He reclaimed his feet in his anger, and she laughed. 

  
  


It was not a kind sound. 

  
  


“I see it is as they say-- you are here as one of us, you wear our skin-- but you know nothing of our ways, neither in how to address us, nor our biology. Let me make it plain to you--” She stood, towering over him both in her height and on the dias of her throne.

“ My presence here as a woman is an insult to your abilities as a man. When I stood beside my father and brother and watched them agree to follow you into Asgard, you were more-- an enemy, turned ally-- then, we had respect for you. And so then I was a man, as you see those around me now. We were introduced then, but I wonder, in your superiority, if you would even remember me,  _ brother. _ ” 

  
  


Horrified, he watched as her features shifted and bled into themselves, becoming harsher, craggier, losing the roundness and softness that had gentled her into something somewhat more palatable before. 

  
  


“I am Helblindi of Jotunheim, son of Laufey and Farbauti. It was our father, our brother, and my intended whom you took with you to be slain. So I say again-- if you have a boon to ask of us, you should tell me why Jotunheim should be of any help to you first.”

  
  


Loki’s brow lowered, as he realized just what this meant. 

  
  


Laufey had been his father as well-- and it seemed they all knew it. 

  
  


“Perhaps you have heard the saying-- it is a popular one on Asgard. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ Asgard failed to tell me much, in my time there. As you have said, I know nothing of your people, of your traditions. Nor, until I came to Jotunheim, even that I was a member of your race.” 

  
  


He heard the murmurs of those gathered here to watch the proceedings, like a dull thunder rolling through the crowd. 

  
  


“ I was not told until I confronted the Alfather that I  _ was _ Laufey’s son-- and then I was told only out of spite. Only because the pretense would not last any longer.” 

  
  


He pulled himself straighter, glad that he had lost any pride he might once have had. 

  
  


“ Your people have seen the scars I bear upon my back, and there are more across my face. These were not done by the foe that I helped Asgard to vanquish, but rather by Asgard herself-- by those who called themselves my family. So if your fear is that I retain some sort of  _ loyalty  _ to them--” He all but spat the word loyalty. 

  
  


“ Your lack of alliance is noted, but still you have not answered: what do you intend to do  _ for  _ Jotunheim? And what is it you would ask of us?” Helblindi’s patience sounded thin.

  
  


“I would get myself and Steven Rogers out of your way-- and I would ask that you allow Asgardian ships to come and retrieve us, that you will give us directions for them, that they may get here.” He did not have much to offer, and the King did not seem impressed. 

  
  


“If we felt overly intruded upon, we could remove you as easily as you may break the smooth powder of our fields. Without having to allow our enemies, the invaders, into our midst.”

  
  


Loki felt his throat tighten. 

  
  


“Please--" 

  
  


"Ah and there is your humility. But what finds it? A threat to your mortal, or a threat to yourself? What do you value, Loki of nowhere?" Helblindi asked, and for a moment, Loki could almost hear himself in the creature's voice. 

  
  


"Does it matter?" He snapped. "If you want something from me, have it. If you would punish me for my role in your family's deaths, by all means. Only let me see Captain Rogers to safety. He is not my consort, as you have all assumed, but rather the man who saved my life. I owe him his, regardless of the cost." 

  
  


"And so you would reject  _ his _ gift of  _ your _ life?" Helblindi sounded begrudgingly amused, and perhaps a bit… interested. 

  
  


"I was raised to know when to sacrifice something of lesser value. I am not worth anything, in material goods nor familial ties, nor even in what I offer by existing. I have had all of that stripped from me. But Rogers is worthwhile. He is a hero of his people. He deserves better than death at your hands for my faults. Or to be kept as a playmate, a toy for your children. It is no way for him to-- please. Is that what you want of me? You want me to beg?" 

  
  


Loki dropped to his knees. 

  
  


"I have not yet decided what I want of you, brother. Would that I knew your mother's name, to ask her family to step forward and see to your keeping-- But I am told your back is too ruined, your lines illegible from the Allfather's scars. And so it seems it falls to me. I am the last family that you have, and there is none for you to blame for that but yourself. So until you can bring me a valid plan for how you intend to return the Captain to his world, you will stay in the room you have been using. You will speak to me and my advisors of Asgard and cooperate, answer any question posed to you. And in return, you and Steven Rovers will remain alive. I am Helblindi, Soverign of Jotunheim, and it will be as I say."

  
  


Around them, each of the Jotnar clasped their great hands into fists, placed their fist on their right thighs, and bent at the waist, before quickly rising. 

  
  


Helblindi turned his back on Loki, and Loki nearly turned to those who guided him there, before he thought better of it. 

“Wait!” he called out. 

  
  


Helblindi turned back, his huge hairless brow arching and widening his skeptical red eye. 

  
  


“May I have your permission to visit the Captain, in his current home? And your assurance that he will be supplied with the things necessary for his health and safety, while I work?” 

  
  


“So fussy about this human man, Little Brother. You have my word. But you should work quickly. You were raised as an Asgardian, and we know how slow those people are. Your mortal may not last long enough to see a plan put into action, if you do not learn to keep up with your Jotun counterparts.” 

  
  


The ire and mockery was plain in his face and voice, and Loki would have bristled if he weren’t quite so bemused. 

  
  


“The Aesir say the same of your people,” Loki noted. “That you are lumbering and move with the speed and dexterity of the glaciers you so love.” 

  
  


Helblindi threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing off of the ice. It was not kind laughter. 

  
  


“A charming race, your other family. I look forward to hearing more of the many ways they have turned the other realms against us.” The words came out a sneer, and Loki cringed.

  
  


“But you will allow me to visit him.” Loki pressed, insistent on securing that assurance before he would let the other go. His brother stared and Loki could all but see his thoughts working.

  
  


“You will be taken to him now.” Helblindi gestured, one handed. “Gilling, go ahead and bring the children out. Tell them-- and everyone-- that the pools are out of bounds for the remainder of the day. Loki wishes to visit his mortal… enough to attempt to command me. So, very well. We will let him have what he asks.”

  
  


Loki’s heart leapt into his throat as he understood what Helblindi intended. 

  
  


“I-- I cannot stay there long, not in this form.” His words emerged like a plea. 

  
  


Helblindi, though, merely turned and shrugged. 

“So change. I’m told you are capable. That will be all.” 

He waved his hand, and with that simple flick of his wrist, Loki found himself dragged away from the court of his brother, away from the Jotun throne.

  
  


He was carried back through the tunnels, back down lower, and into the cavern where Steve had been the day before. 

  
  


The children were all gathered outside, watching with eager eyes that shone bright and red in the relative dimness of the tunnel. 

  
  


Loki did not met their curious gazes before the was unceremoniously deposited inside of the door and left there like that. Behind him, the door was pushed closed, and before him was… 

  
  


It was, for a moment, bright and warm, until the lights all faded down.

  
  


In the last moment of being able to see, he could make out the Captain approaching. 

  
  


“Loki?” He heard. “Is that you?” 

  
  


That Rogers could recognize him in this form already, in such poor lighting… maybe it would have been a testament to the man and his ability to memorize lines and faces, but Loki felt as though it were far stronger testament to his own hideousness, his own deformity, that he should be so easy to pick apart from the rest. 

  
  


“Yes, Captain, it is I.” He could not keep the sound of defeat out of his voice. 

  
  


“Did something happen? They usually don’t leave til much later, right? Because it’s… it’s the kids; bedtime.” 

  
  


Loki sucked in air, realizing what that meant, what Rogers wasn’t saying. 

  
  


“When they leave you, you have no light, do you? For how long-- do they--” 

The heat made him feel slow and stupid. 

  
  


“It’s not that bad.” Rogers’ protest sounded half hearted at least. 

  
  


“What is to stop you falling in the pools, this way?” Loki demanded, and he realized that his eyes were adjusting a little-- there was a tiny bit of light from the pools themselves, making them glow to his vision. But it was so faint that he doubted the Captain could even see it with his human eyes. 

  
  


“Like I said, it’s not so bad. I just move slowly.”

  
  


Indeed, the shadow that was Rogers had his hands out and was creeping nearer to where Loki was sprawled. 

  
  


“Still yourself, Rogers. Have you-- have you spoken to your captors of your blindness?” 

  
  


He stopped moving at least, which was good; Loki couldn’t hurt him that way by accident. He pressed his back to the door, hoping to sap some chill from the hall outside. If there was any difference, he couldn’t feel it.

  
  


“No, I… figure they know. It’s probably on purpose.”

  
  


His mind was so muddied now, absorbing the wetness from the air, and it made his every thought so very dense. 

  
  


“They don’t-- I think they do not want to harm you. They like you. And the lights… even children can power them.” He knew he sounded bitter. “Any child with Jotun Magn can light a light. Perhaps they have not considered--” 

  
  


“You don’t think this is… punishment?” Rogers asked, and Loki nearly cursed at how low he spoke, how small he sounded. 

  
  


“What would you be punished for?” Again, that sharp bitterness. “I’m sorry. No, this is not your punishment. The only one being punished here is me-- I’m. I have to stay here until--  It’s so hot here-- do they at least supply you with water?” 

  
  


“There’s a stream over this way-- let me find you, and then I can guide you so neither of us fall into the hot pools.”

  
  


“You cannot touch me, if you recall.” Loki did not say it to be cruel. He just felt so stupid. 

  
  


“I can touch you. You touched me. I...I remember it.” Rogers moved closer, clearly using his voice to find him. It was dark and he obviously felt emboldened, not being able to see Loki’s face. “I wanted to… to apologize. To you. I thought a lot after you left, this last time. It was never my intention to use you to end it, to… I wasn’t trying to make you into an instrument to kill me.”

  
  


Loki sucked in a shocked breath, and Rogers pushed on, casting about to the right of him. Loki shrank away from the touch, even though he could feel himself leaning into the words.

  
  


“That wasn’t what I wanted. And I think… it says a lot, that you knew-- you told me what you thought would happen if I died. To you. And still you meant to be… you were trying to make it easy on me, even though it would have hurt you. But also… it also says a lot that you thought that was something I’d want. Do you--” he heard the Captain swallow and held his breath, afraid to move away and afraid to be found. 

  
  


“Do you still want that for yourself, Loki?” His words were softer. “Do you still… you don’t still want to die, do you?” 

  
  


Loki had never been more glad of the darkness. 

  
  


“I wouldn’t abandon you here like that.” He told him, seeking to put him at ease. “I promise you, Rogers, I am going to see you to safety.”

  
  


“And after that?” The Captain asked, and Loki shrugged, the dark not affording him the false confidence of the gesture. 

  
  


“Nothing has changed since the last time we spoke of this. I still have no one and no where, I still have no skills and no power and no future.” He tried to keep his tone light, conversational despite the situation. He could feel the heat sinking into him, though, making him dumb and heavy and dizzy. 

  
  


“You have Jotunheim, though, don’t you?” Rogers asked. “You’re one of them, you could come live here--” He sounded hopeful. It infuriated him.

  
  


“ I am  _ not _ .” Loki snapped, his voice echoing sharply around the chamber. “I am  _ not _ like these  _ beasts _ . I will never be  _ one of them.  _ How dare you--”

  
  


He could see Rogers’s shape flinch. 

  
  


“Well... Alright, I’m… I’m sorry. I thought-- I didn’t mean… but, even without that… You aren’t alone. You have me.” His words were soft, almost quiet enough to be lost in the sounds of the water lapping against the side of the pool. 

  
  


“Have I?” Loki returned. “Your priority is Barnes-- not that I can blame you. Now that he’s returned to you, once you are back on your realm, you have him. You won’t have any need or want of me, and I will be nothing but in the way of your reclaimed friendship. Believe me, it-- it would be better…” He trailed off, shrugging again, though he knew the Captain could not see him. 

  
  


“Stop doing that!” Rogers sounded as if his patience had run out. “Stop comparing yourself to him. It’s not the same. I don’t-- I don’t feel the same about you two, it’s not a contest.”

  
  


Loki frowned, hearing the upset he’d inspired. 

“Of course you don’t. That wasn’t what I-- I did not mean to imply that we were in any way equals.” He sounded resigned, even to his own ears.

  
  


The Captain exhaled loudly and came forward, obviously having figured out where Loki was by his words, and Loki couldn’t do anything but let out a soft groan as his hands landed, as he made contact with the skin of Loki’s shoulder, and then slid upward. 

  
  


With Rogers’s impossibly warm hand on his face, Loki felt the change that he could not see, felt his skin warming and the air around him cooling, felt the door at his back become chilly, then frigid, but above all he felt Rogers, right there and still touching him.

  
  


And it was not that he wanted to be Jotun-- in fact Loki had reached up almost as soon as he’d felt the touch, keeping his hand in place. Some part of him was afraid that he would turn back the moment the touch was severed-- but his stomach twisted inside of him at not having had the chance to make the choice. At being denied his attempt to keep Rogers safe. Because he  _ might  _ have hurt him, this time. He might have burned him, or been forced to watch him flinch away from him.

  
  


“ You  _ are _ equals, I promise. I care about you both, and I… I feel responsible for you both. I want you both to be happy, to be safe, and… and alive.”

  
  


Loki squeezed Rogers’s hand and let it go, freeing him, allowing him to take it away.

  
  


Rogers knelt instead, drawing closer to his level, while Loki smiled sadly. 

  
  


“ You haven’t lied, but you haven’t told the truth, either.” He pointed out. “You do feel all of those things. But responsibility and guilt are what your feelings toward me are based on. If you did not feel responsible, you would have no reason to care for me. Whereas Barnes… You have loved him for years. He is your family. You actually  _ want _ to be around him. He serves a purpose. He has a future.” 

  
  


“You could have a future, if you’d just let yourself.” The Captain told him sternly. “And I do want to be around you-- most of the time. Or… I know a lot has changed with us and you since… since you died. But, we were friends, and… look, I think we’re even now. I can’t survive here at all without you, I need your help to get back to Earth, to get my life back. I need you as much as you needed me, once. And I hope that means, when this is over, that we can… we can try and start from somewhere balanced.” 

“You suppose the Jotnar or SHIELD will ever give me enough power to be your equal?” Loki asked with a small laugh. “There is nowhere in all of the realms where you and I would be on equal footing. I appreciate the thought, Rogers, but please. At least be realistic.”

  
  


“As realistic as being locked in the dark in an enchanted hotspring cavern on an alien ice planet with a mass murderer turned friend who’s been blue the majority of my time here?” He asked archly, and Loki nearly laughed. 

  
  


“I will give you that.” He said. “And you are right on one other point, as well.” 

  
  


“Oh? What’s that?” Rogers asked, then, beginning to move and tugging Loki after him, he said, “Talk while we walk, come on.” 

  
  


“The other point is that I am not alone; You are correct about that. Barnes is always with me. I spoke to him earlier via the sceptre… our uh-- your rescue. It is perhaps a bit complicated.”

  
  


Rogers stopped them and tugged on Loki’s hand and he knelt, mostly blind, now, and felt the cool water that the Captain had led him to. Gratefully, he scooped some into his mouth. 

  
  


“Complicated how?” Rogers asked, and Loki wiped at the trails of moisture on his face, gratified not to feel ridges beneath his fingers. 

  
  


“Barnes says that Asgard will not send ships to Jotunheim without permission from the ruler of the Jotnar. Thanks to mine and Thor’s actions, the peace between the two worlds is too uneasy. The-- hm.” Loki wondered how best to explain the next part. “The ruler here is -- when he is male, he is my half-brother, Helbindi.” Loki let his scorn at the relation be heard. “He has less reason to care for me than most, given that I led Laufey to his death. So being related will grant me no boons. And until I can bring to him a plan for your safe return, I am to be kept in the room I have been placed in, and I am to cooperate and give them information about the Asgardians.”

  
  


“That sounds like they’re asking you to betray your home.” Rogers pointed out, sounding surprised and disapproving. 

  
  


“I have no home, but… yes. That is how it sounds to me as well.” Loki admitted. 

  
  


“And what do you mean by, ‘When he’s male’?” The Captain asked next, and Loki shrugged, well aware the movement would be heard if not seen. 

  
  


“He can change. I do not know how that is true, or if it is true of the entire race, but… I do know that, with Seidhr, I may do the same. Perhaps it is a special branch of their Magn. I was told that he met with me first as a woman as a form of insult to my manhood.” Loki scoffed. 

  
  


“Well, societal differences and all, I guess.” Rogers sounded doubtful. “So why did they send you here, then, if that was their plan for you?”

  
  


“I’ve no doubt they are listening to us, somehow, to see if you and I are plotting harm. Also I may have insulted Helblindi, but… who can say? I no more understand their motives than I understand how it is your touch or theirs can move me from one skin to the next with my seidhr bound. In either case, I do not like it.”

  
  


“Now, look, the company can’t be all that bad.” Rogers said, words strained, though, as if he knew the joke was thin. 

  
  


“No, indeed, Captain; yours is the best on this entire realm.” Loki came back, then sighed. “I don’t suppose you have any food left to you, have you? I haven’t eaten since we’ve been here.” 

  
  


“You-- but it’s been awhile, hasn’t it? They haven’t offered you anything?” 

  
  


“I wouldn’t know. I have found no overt means of time keeping in any of their rooms, and their sky is foreign to me-- if I could even see it. Besides, I shudder to think what my other form might be accustomed to eating.” 

  
  


“They bring me servings and take the dishes when I’m done, so no, there’s nothing left… But I feel like usually they bring something around about this time-- or at least, I haven’t eaten in a bit, so.” He spread his hands, or shrugged, maybe-- Loki couldn’t tell.

  
  


“Perhaps they mean to remove me from here when they feed you. I can imagine there being some sense in that.” Less reasons to open the door, he meant. 

  
  


“They generally bring me some supper before the children have to go to bed. I wonder if they’ll turn the lights back on for us to eat.” 

  
  


“I’m sure.” Loki told him, though he mentally amended it to ‘for you to eat’. 

  
  


He wondered if their lack of offering had been intentional, as far as he was concerned, or if they simply knew that humans required food more than Asgardians or Jotuns-- he assumed-- did. 

“I hope they do not intend to deprive you of a meal for my sake.” Loki said, and seated himself at the edge of the cool water. 

It would be easier, he thought, to avoid noise from his stomach and hunger pangs if he simply filled himself with liquid while it was available. 

That in mind, he dipped both his hands into the water. 

  
  


Rogers sat down beside him and reached out blindly, to find where he was. 

  
  


“Your clothes!” He said, surprised. 

  
  


“Yes, I found them in the room they have been keeping me in. Do you-- is there somewhere for you to go? To sleep?” Loki was only realizing now how large the room was, and how overwhelmingly hot and humid it was… better than freezing, but he could not imagine the Captain was comfortable here for long periods. 

  
  


Beside him, he heard a soft movement, a nod or head shake? 

“No, I just have here-- uh, on the other side of this pool there’s a rock shelf. It’s cooler in that corner, sort of a evener temperature. I spend a lot of time there. And there’s a little antechamber, for a bathroom.” Loki could hear in his voice an unwillingness to complain, but he found himself growing furious. 

  
  


“And you spend your time sleeping on the rock, or relaxing in the single cool part of the chamber… with nothing to do?” He asked hotly. 

  
  


“Well, the kids are usually around, and then I turn in after they leave. It’s not so bad, really.” Steve seemed as if he were trying to calm him down.

  
  


“Not so bad, unable to leave and used as a combination menagerie installation and nurse maid!” Loki would have stood and paced if he had any faith in where he stepped. 

  
  


Instead he felt Steve’s hand settling on his shoulder, his voice close enough that he could feel the air his words stirred on the side of his face.

“Really, Loki, it’s fine. But thank you-- for caring.” 

  
  


Loki froze, went absolutely still until even the inflation of his lungs seemed to rock his entire body. 

  
  


“I do care.” He spoke into the darkness, very softly. “Probably too much.” It felt safer to admit as much in the dark, but he closed his eyes anyway, squeezed them shut as if he could seal out the revulsion that would no doubt follow. 

  
  


“Look, we can figure a way out of this together.” Rogers told him. 

  
  


Loki huffed out a breath, but was quietly glad that he was going to ignore it. 

  
  


“But what about you-- you said you haven’t eaten. You said they want to lock you in a room and question you… are you going to be okay? Can you just… try not to hate them? I can’t imagine how it must be coloring everything you do with them, and how it might be making them more wary toward you.” Steve pressed on. 

  
  


“I can’t. I do hate them. I hate them for throwing me away as a child, and for every pain they have inflicted since. But don’t worry. I will work with them, and I will find a way to get you out of here.” Loki promised. 

Behind them, the door creaked open, and the lights came on. 

Steve didn’t let go of his shoulder, right away, giving it a little squeeze before he released it to stand.

  
  


“Us. A way to get us out of here. And then we can talk about what caring too much entails, because… I have a feeling we have that in common.” He said all of this calmly, and looking Loki straight in the eye, before he went to greet the Jotnar who had come.

  
  


Loki didn’t know what he would have said to that, so for once he was glad of the interruption, even if it  _ was  _ in the form of frost giants.

  
  
  


 


End file.
